A Change in Circumstances
by Eratta
Summary: Ch. 9 up. Trip talks with Emris and Malcolm, Archer deals with his inner demons. It's the beginning of the resolution
1. Default Chapter

First, the important stuff: Thanks so much to Samantha Quinn for taking the time and effort to beta this chapter. You're the best ^-^.  
  
A/N: Okay okay, I know it's been done. This is just to say that none of the material in this story is linked any other stories by any other author. This is strictly a product of my own depraved, romantic mind. With that said, let me explain why I chose to write this.  
  
In the prequel to this story ('Of All the Times, Places, and People!'), I tried to show you what I think is the beginning of a much closer relationship between Trip and T'Pol. Through much self-reflection and stressful circumstances, these two wonderfully dynamic characters discovered that they have somehow overcome the immense boundary that once stood between them. However, they are unsure of how to progress. Trip is sure it's something special, while T'Pol (being the clinical, cautious, and skeptical woman that she is) decides not to pass judgment immediately. She decides to give this new closeness a chance and take it slow.  
  
In this continuation, I hope to proceed in that fashion. Hopefully, T'Pol and Trip will continue to see each other in new ways and learn more about each other, while simultaneously uncovering more of themselves. This is definitely a 'ship' story, but I think it will be pretty mild. For now, it's a bourgeoning friendship taking place amidst at least one new character (I like adding my own characters, as it gives me practice in unfamiliar territory) and all the primaries. Enjoy!  
  
It was becoming very well known among space-faring individuals that rarely does anything remain consistent. For instance, the humans aboard the NX-01 Enterprise had learned that adventures came in groups, or not at all. Either they spent days or week working on various problems, or they lazed about, dreaming of something exciting to shake their monotonous way of life.  
  
The day following the Commander's and SubCommander's return to Enterprise proved that the second scenario was the current choice of Fate. Trip was just coming into the mess hall for breakfast, returning grins and 'good mornings' to the other people in the room. Even after two years, he still felt grateful for seeing every one of those faces. Especially after having successful gotten out of the trouble to which he was particularly prone. Grabbing himself a plate of poached eggs and a mug of strong black coffee, he searched the crowded room for a place to sit. His first two choices were already out: T'Pol was recovering and the captain was in a briefing with Admiral Forrest. The engineer shrugged his shoulders. 'Why not use the captain's mess if it's already empty?' he asked himself. And without further hesitation, he entered the larger room.  
  
He hadn't even gone through half of his coffee when the comm sounded. Sighing, though not entirely unhappy, he twisted to answer it.  
  
"Tucker here." He responded.  
  
"Sorry to interrupt, Commander, but you're needed on the bridge."  
  
Draining the mug and wolfing down the rest of the contents of his plate, Trip replied, "On ma way."  
  
It was unusual for him to be summoned to the bridge. Usually, unless something was up, he proceeded directly to the engine room. Therefore, he concluded, something must be happening. He chuckled at his own use of greatly simplified logic. 'T'Pol would be proud.' He thought.  
  
But once on the bridge, his light mood evaporated. The grim faces of the senior staff were clustered around the large, comprehensive consol in the situation room. Lit from below by the electric glow from the panels, they looked like ashen ghosts of their former selves. Having recently seen another person in such a state, Trip involuntarily shuddered.  
  
"What's goin' on?" he asked, coming to stand between the helmsman and captain.  
  
"Hoshi picked up a distress message on one of the emergency frequencies." His friend told him briefly. Archer's large hands gripped the edges of the consol as he leaned on it. Trip had learned that this pose was typical of the captain when in a difficult situation, usually one that he didn't fully understand. And having known Jonathon Archer for several years, Trip knew he didn't like to be in the dark.  
  
Across from him, the petite language prodigy chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip, carefully shaped brows drawn together over her large eyes. Trip looked at her expectantly.  
  
"It's weird sir," she began, eyes clouded with confusion, "It's not like any Vulcan distress message I've ever heard."  
  
Trip's head snapped up, immediately intrigued by this new bit of information.  
  
"It's Vulcan?"  
  
"The language is," she explained slowly, apparently trying to work it out as she spoke, "but the way the message is composed is . . . not *Vulcan*." She looked around the room helplessly, having no clue of how to make them understand her.  
  
"It's clearly Vulcan, but it's like a dialect. And it's almost a riddle; it's not succinct and to the point, like it should be."  
  
"Where's it coming from?" Travis asked. Clearly, he was anticipating the order to lay in an intercept course. But Hoshi sighed and crossed her arms over her chest.  
  
"That's also part of the mystery," Malcolm Reed explained. "It seems like whoever sent it was using a triangulating transmitter, which means we can't find it unless we know the exact frequency that was used."  
  
"Well, shouldn't the SubCommander know about this?" Travis asked again.  
  
The captain shook his head regretfully. Much as he wanted to know what was going on, T'Pol was on a strict medical leave, having strict orders to refrain from any and all work. He knew that asking her to help with this new development wouldn't sit too well with their resident Denobulan.  
  
To his staff, he said "She's on med leave. We can't ask her to be up here in her condition."  
  
Trip, recently having become more acquainted with T'Pol and her values, spoke up. "She's bound to find out sometime, Cap'n. And when she does, she won't let anybody keep her from helpin' her own people."  
  
"The Commander's right." Hoshi added. Archer looked at her in surprise. He was still getting used to this newer, more assertive and outspoken Hoshi. Even more unusual was Trip's uncharacteristic insight into the mind of their beautiful resident Vulcan. For a long time, Archer had believed his companionship to be the closest thing T'Pol had to a friendship. Finding out the truth of the matter was difficult. But he put that aside for a less pressing moment.  
  
"She's the only person onboard who can figure this thing out." She finished.  
  
Looking around at their faces, Jon wasn't happy with the state of events. But what was the point of having a senior staff if you didn't listen to their advice? Deciding to brave the inevitable chidings from Phlox, he turned to the comm. and said,  
  
"Archer to T'Pol."  
  
Immediately, she answered. All within the vicinity were secretly pleased with how well she sounded. Trip was especially grateful for the return of her usual, pleasantly calm and unemotional tone.  
  
"Yes, Captain." She said.  
  
"You know I hate to cut your leave short, but we need you on the bridge." The Captain told her shortly.  
  
"Understood." She responded evenly. If there was one thing Archer appreciated about the Vulcans, it was their work ethic.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Privately, T'Pol was less than happy to be returning to the bridge so soon. Under the doctor's orders, she was to remain off duty for several more days. But obviously, something had happened which required her knowledge and expertise. Though she didn't mind having a problem to solve, the lingering remains of her severe cough was troublesome, and she was still rather tired. Upon returning to the bridge, she was grateful at least one thing. With Commander Tucker there, she would be sure that she wouldn't have an opportunity to exhaust herself too much. With her hands clasped professionally behind her back and her back perfectly postured, she announced her presence.  
  
"Reporting for duty."  
  
The Captain gave her an apologetic grin as Trip smiled reassuringly at her. They proceeded to explain the problem to her as best they could. After taking it all in without so much as twitching a muscle, she turned to the other woman member of the senior crew.  
  
"May I listen to the message?"  
  
Obligingly, Ensign Sato played the recorded message. At first, the SubCommander couldn't believe what she was hearing. Never before had she been faced with this particular situation. She listened to it again, to be absolutely certain. And then she was silent, thinking.  
  
Her crewmates watched her like hawks, wondering why she was taking so long to explain the situation to them. Finally, she walked briskly over to her science station. Archer was close to reaching his patience limit for the day.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asked in bewilderment.  
  
"Isolating the location from where the message was transmitted."  
  
"I tried half a dozen times; it's impossible!" Hoshi protested.  
  
"Not if you know the frequency." T'Pol responded, never once looking up from her consol. Her fingertips flew across the keyboard in a speed born of urgency.  
  
"And let me guess," Archer directed towards her, "it's a frequency only known to Vulcans."  
  
"It's an emergency frequency." She offered, careful not to dispel too much information. It was imperative that certain secrets be kept within Vulcan society, and T'Pol had mastered the art of preserving such information while simultaneously offering enough to appease her suspicious crewmates. Having isolated the coordinates to within a tenth of a degree, she sent into Ensign Sato's consol. Hoshi stared at her in awe.  
  
T'Pol turned towards her Captain. "I need to transmit a message; audio only. May I use the Ready Room?"  
  
Archer swept his broad hand towards the tiny room, making a small effort to conceal his irritation. Once inside, T'Pol recalled the words from her earliest memories; the second part of an exchange taught to all Vulcans as a cultural secret; a call and response for help that any Vulcan would know in an instant.  
  
"In the face of emotion, logic reigns supreme." She said into the computer. She sent the message, and returned to the open area of the bridge, where she was met with annoyed and confused stares.  
  
"What the hell does all this mean?" Trip asked in utter confusion. It was the first time he'd spoken to T'Pol since she had come onto the bridge.  
  
"I cannot tell you."  
  
"You better tell us something." Archer informed her. "Cryptic messages and secrecy all are clear indications of trouble. What exactly are we getting into, here?"  
  
T'Pol considered his disposition and mood, and then glanced towards the Chief Engineer. She had promised to answer most of his questions, but this topic was definitely not open for discussion with off-worlders, no matter how trustworthy they were. Turning towards Lt. Reed, who had remained characteristically silent, she said  
  
"It's possible we will encounter at least one unfriendly vessel. I suggest you take appropriate precautions."  
  
With a quick glance of confirmation at Archer, who nodded tightly, Reed promptly put the ship on tactical alert. Still looking hard at his silent science officer, he called out the Travis,  
  
"Lay in a new course, ensign. Take us to those coordinates at warp 4.7"  
  
Travis acted accordingly while Archer looked from Trip to T'Pol. He trusted these two more than any other people on his ship, but he didn't like T'Pol's silence on the matter. But apparently, Trip was just as clueless as he.  
  
"I trust you'll tell us what this is all about sometime soon?" He asked quietly. Unwittingly, he'd added a slightly menacing tone to his inquiry, which made Trip stiffen and want to stand between them. It took both his training and the knowledge that Archer and T'Pol were mostly on good terms to keep him from acting on his instinct.  
  
"It is a matter of utmost urgency." She told them. The way her eyes had opened wider then usual was enough to tell Trip she was telling the truth, and also that this was a source of concern for her.  
  
"Urgent in what kind of way?" Archer asked.  
  
"A life is at stake." She admitted, gazing up at him in earnestness that could only belong to a plea of great importance.  
  
"A child's life."  
  
TBC  
  
A/N Continued: There, now you know, it's another one of those Enterprise- finds-a-kid stories. Hopefully the muse will inspire a new twist or two. Please leave a review, even if you hate it. What can I do to improve this? Should I work on anything in particular? Let me know, like a responsible reviewer.  
  
Also, on a more personal and serious note, this story is dedicated to Carolyn, a young woman who just graduated from my school. Carolyn (Carrie) was not a particularly close friend of mine, but we were pretty close during my freshman year. At that time, she was a sophomore. We shared only one class, but it was so much fun and really made my first year of high school easier. We've all heard tales of seniors, juniors, and sophomores persecuting the lowly freshmen. Let me start off by stating that on my first day, I was completely lost. The first bell had just rung, and I had no idea where to go. I stopped a tall, slender blonde and asked her to tell me where the Honors Biology room was. She smiled, and told me she had the same class. And once we had arrived, she even explained my tardiness to our teacher. She then took a seat next to me (there were several other available seats in the room) and introduced herself, following with "Welcome to the best days of your life".  
  
Carrie was more than kind. She was also extremely intelligent, athletic, and quite outgoing. Everybody seemed to be friends with her. They loved her compassion and her quirky sense of humor. But most of all, we loved how nothing made her bitter or cynical.  
  
In her junior year, Carolyn was diagnosed with Leukemia. I don't know what specific kind, but it was a shock nonetheless. But instead of leaving school entirely, she decided to attend as long as possible. Long after her hair had fallen out, she was still seen in the halls, books in her arms and a smile on her face. And when she was too weak to come to class, she still managed to complete every assignment from home. We were baffled with her unwavering sense of cheerfulness, and were elated when she announced her remission.  
  
Her senior year went well. She was back in school full time, and her hair had grown out into a cute bob. Then, one day in the March just before seventh period, she announced her relapse. We cried and shouted our anger, but Carrie didn't. She sighed and said she wasn't afraid to go through it all again. She was being brave for us. She went back into chemo, and I only saw her once again. She was bald and in a wheelchair, coming to take a final exam. She graduated on May 31, and received a standing ovation. Though I wasn't there, others have told me that she glowed with joy and pride.  
  
Carrie passed away on July 6, 2003 in the peace of her own home, leaving us to reach a new plane; the ultimate spiritual plane. Personally, I believe that every person has a mission in life. Some take longer to realize and complete than others, and in Carolyn's case, I know she found hers early. I know that to face death with such grace, composure, and contentment can only be achieved from leading a fulfilled life. Though she was only 18, I know she did what she was put on this earth to do. We love you Carrie, and we know you loved us back. Such love transcends the boundaries between the spirit and the flesh, and we know you'll always be with us. Amen 


	2. Chapter 2: Life in the midst of Death

A/N: Okay, here's chapter 2. Please, bear with me here. The way I'm going about this is a little different, and since I know very little about Trek lore or cultures, probably very little of this will coincide with the official Trek. Also, I soon will be taking an intensive writing course, so you may not see another chapter for a while. It all depends on how long it takes me to write my assignments. Thank you.  
  
Archer was stunned. At first, he didn't quite believe what T'Pol was telling him. First of all, he'd never even seen a Vulcan child. Didn't he learn somewhere that they led very sheltered and protected lives on Vulcan? So what was a kid doing in the bufu of space?  
  
"That doesn't make sense." He replied.  
  
T'Pol's expression was a mix of patience and mild contempt, and indeed that was how she felt towards him after that ignorant comment. How could he presume to know enough about her culture to know what did and did not make sense? There was a reason for their secrecy regarding certain matters, but he didn't seem to understand that. Too often they had argued about privacy and to what extent she could use it.  
  
"Why does it not make sense?" She asked him, determined to keep as professional about this as possible. Around them, the starship gently shuddered. Trip looked about nervously; he no doubt wanted to be back in the engine room, monitoring his precious charge.  
  
"Well for a start, why would Vulcans be out this far anyway?" The captain countered. He knew that Vulcans usually kept within known space; only rarely did they venture out into the unknown.  
  
"And why did they send a distress call on a channel that nobody could identify? Doesn't that defeat the purpose of a distress call?" Trip quipped, tapping figures into the main engineering monitor.  
  
T'Pol gazed at him. He was remarkably perceptive. Unlike the captain, he was considering the apparent lack of logic behind the situation. Naturally, being accustomed to his illogical approach to unusual problems, she was impressed. And, she decided, the humans needed to know something of the circumstances that had them blindly heading to a child at high warp.  
  
"Such a distress call indicates that a tragedy of the most serious kind has happened. The ship's passengers are trying to save one person, but it would be dangerous to send out the general emergency message. It would alert their possible attackers and other hostile species to the fact that at least one person remains alive aboard the vessel." She answered. The captain was somewhat miffed to see the response was directed to Tucker, who didn't seem to be paying too much attention.  
  
"So," he began, regaining the Vulcan's attention, "what kind of ship is it? Do they have any weapons?"  
  
"At this distance it is difficult to tell, but the nature of the call said it was a child they are trying to save. Rarely do children travel on starships."  
  
"So it was probably a personal ship." Trip interjected. For all his appearance of not listening, he was carefully taking in whatever T'Pol said.  
  
"Most likely." She agreed.  
  
Archer turned on his heel and headed off towards the ready room. "I'm going to inform Admiral Forrest." He told them. But before he'd reached the door, T'Pol stopped him.  
  
"I don't believe that would be a wise course of action, sir."  
  
"Why not? Starfleet should know, and so should the High Command." Archer argued.  
  
T'Pol came to stand by his side, her piercing gaze focused entirely on him. Never before had she scrutinized him with such intensity. Jon was somewhat disconcerted.  
  
"We do not know who the aggressors are. It is possible they have technology to monitor secure channels."  
  
"That would explain the cryptic message." Archer mused.  
  
T'Pol nodded and continued, "And it could alert them to our arrival."  
  
Archer was silent as he considered it, and then curtly nodded his head at the petite woman. Over her head, he called out,  
  
"What's our ETA?"  
  
Travis promptly answered, "3. 42 hours, sir."  
  
Again, the captain nodded his head, for lack of any better response. To his science officer, he stated,  
  
"I'll be in my ready room, unless you'd care to discuss this further?" This time there was no threatening undertone, and Trip was relieved that his friend seemed to have regained his composure.  
  
"I will need to prepare. Once we arrive, there are certain procedures that I will need to perform."  
  
"And the kid?"  
  
T'Pol paused, thinking. Certainly she did not want to bring a young, untrained Vulcan mind into the presence of 82 humans, but what choice did she have? A child required a parent or guardian. As a young woman, she had very little experience in the ways of parenthood. Unhappy with the conclusion, she replied,  
  
"The child will need to remain with us until a transport can take it back to Vulcan. If it is very young, I will need to be with it at all times."  
  
"Yer not plannin' on keepin' the poor thing locked in your quarters, are you?" Trip asked. The look in T'Pol's eyes of resignation was all he needed to see.  
  
"SubCommander, that's crazy. It could be weeks before the High Command can send a ship out to meet us." He informed her.  
  
Archer backed Trip up with, "and we can't spare you that long from duty."  
  
The young SubCommander gazed at them. Naturally, she wanted to make the child's stay as bearable as possible, but there were rules. She would hate to undermine any training the child may have previously had. Such training was difficult for children for several years, and any damage would require extensive corrective measures. To her colleagues, she said,  
  
"It is illogical to discuss this without further information."  
  
The men turned sour looks on her, and exchanged one of mutual frustration. However reluctant they were to admit it, she had a point. And furthermore, it was entirely her call. Correctly interpreting these looks as the end of the conversation, she pivoted and left the bridge. It was only in the turbolift that she allowed herself to fully appreciate the gravity of what was happening. And it was at that moment a string of coughs chose to remind her of her recent 'adventure'. Right now, the last thing she needed was the added stress of caring for a child.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
They reached the transport at the estimated time, and as they had expected, it was indeed a personal vessel. Though unfamiliar with the specific ship, its model was standard and well known to T'Pol. As they watched it drifting through the silent vacuum of space, a stark silence fell over the bridge crew. It was one thing to attack members of a Space Program. It was entirely another to prey upon civilians who were just trying to get somewhere. But then, there were no visible signs of an attack. The rust colored hull was unscathed.  
  
"Bio-signs?" Archer asked quietly. He glanced back at T'Pol, wondering how she felt about this. But as usual, her face was complacent and showed only her level of mastery over her violent emotions.  
  
"One." She replied.  
  
"Let's send over an away team--" Archer was saying, but again T'Pol stopped him.  
  
"Only I may go aboard, Captain."  
  
He looked at her, but didn't have the heart to be angry.  
  
"More cultural secrets?"  
  
The SubCommander shook her head gently. "There is nothing secret about the Vulcan Rites of Death. For the safety of the survivor, the ship's backup sensors have been reconfigured. They will allow the access of only one person, and that person must be Vulcan."  
  
"You won't have any trouble with codes?" Malcolm Reed asked. The ship was still on tactical alert, and he wanted to be out of the troubled area as soon as possible. The fact that no one else seemed to be around was not exactly comforting to him, and he had learned never to trust first appearances.  
  
"No. They have all been changed as part of the emergency program. I know them all." T'Pol informed him.  
  
With another look directed at her captain, who nodded his consent and settled into his command chair, she left the bridge and headed to the starboard airlock. There, she donned an EV suit and after keying in the required code, boarded the seemingly lifeless vessel. Only the emergency lighting was on, and she concluded that main power was being diverted. She proceeded directly to the bridge.  
  
As she expertly made her way through the corridors, she considered the situation at hand. All Vulcans learned early on about the possible fatalities one could come by in space. It had been particularly important to know about the situations in which a child was involved. It had been decided centuries ago that if death was imminent, everything should be done to save the young life. The parents or guardians of the child sent a specific message, indicating in code their dire circumstances. Usually, once the response was received, the child was placed in stasis. Then all power and life support was directed to that sole stasis chamber, leaving the rest aboard to die quickly. And though she had learned all the specifics as a child, T'Pol had never actually heard of any such things happening.  
  
And yet, as she walked down the corridors and through the main chambers, she could not help but feel a great sadness within her. To loose personnel was one thing; to perform the Rites of Death over civilians was entirely another. She reached the bridge and keyed in the master code into the main computer. A schematic of the ship was drawn up on the screen, and she expertly traced the flow of the remaining power to one of the personal cabins on the middle deck. A flashing light at the bottom of the screen captured her attention, and she gently tapped it.  
  
It was a letter, presumably from the captain or the child's parent. It was succinct and to the point, as any Vulcan letter should be.  
  
'Sir or Lady,  
  
You have our gratitude for answering out distress call and coming to our aide. No doubt you know the nature of our urgency; you will find a child in stasis on the third deck. Stored with her is a list of her relatives, both on and off Vulcan. Look after her, and please ensure her safety among relatives.  
  
Yours, Talek'  
  
T'Pol wasted no time re-reading the letter. She closed the monitor and quickly went down to the third deck. Steeling herself for what needed to be done, she opened the first door. Laid out peacefully on the narrow bed was a man of middle age. He lay on his back, hands folded on his breast. In the dim lighting, he may easily have been asleep instead of deceased. She said the death rite and moved on to the next room. She continued in this manner until she reached the final room. She opened it, and was not surprised to see a brightly lit stasis chamber in the center of the cabin. On the bed against the wall lay a young man.  
  
T'Pol was astounded to find him alone. A man so young should still be living with his wife. Furthermore, children always stayed with their mothers. Where was the child's other parent? Confused as she was, T'Pol still performed the death rite, lingering a few moments over the man after she'd finished. Silently, she vowed to do as the letter asked.  
  
The woman stood and slowly walked over to the stasis chamber. It was full- length, which meant that the child was likely older. With reluctantly efficient fingers, she activated the anti-gravitation plates. She then disconnected it from the energy source, bringing to battery online. As the chamber rose to waist level, gently humming as it used the last of the ship's energy, T'Pol maneuvered it out of the little Vulcan vessel.  
  
Awaiting her return in the dock, Captain Archer and Dr. Phlox were silent. Whether out of respect for the deceased Vulcans or apprehension for their recovering science officer, suffice it to say neither felt inclined to begin a conversation. Finally, the door opened to reveal a large, coffin- sized box. T'Pol stepped inside and took off her EV suit. Without a word to her assistants (indeed she hardly seemed to notice their presence) she keyed in a long and complicated code on the chamber's locking mechanism. It opened with a hiss as the inside adjusted to the pressure of Enterprise, and together all three lifted the lid.  
  
Words failed them as they gazed down upon the figure inside. For T'Pol especially, it was moving to see the rhythmic rise and fall of the child's chest. It was only after she'd registered it was alive that she noticed how small it was. This was not even a toddler. Sleeping soundly on its back was a female Vulcan infant. Shock overcame T'Pol as Dr. Phlox moved in to check the baby's vital signs.  
  
T'Pol stepped back into someone's chest. Slowly, she recognized the scent to be Commander Tuckers. She found herself remembering a time not too long before when they had been in a similar position. The memory was uncomfortable, as it brought attention back to the dull ache of her lungs. Yet, she seemed to take comfort from his steadfast solidity at her back; she turned halfway to hazard a glance at him. His expression was a mix of awe and pity. Vaguely, she became aware that she also was experiencing pity, along with a heaviness originating from her speculations on how to handle this daunting task ahead of her.  
  
"Ya never said it was a baby." Trip voiced softly. Together, they watched Phlox scan the child. In the meantime, Archer had discovered something beneath the nest of blankets. He unearthed a PADD, which he handed to his First Officer. Though T'Pol knew exactly what it was, she took it and began reviewing its files. The first name she came across was that of the little girl's mother. She was also very young; very close to T'Pol in age. She had a pleasant face, and looked quite healthy.  
  
The SubCommander's first though was that the child should be returned to her mother. But a glance at the well-categorized information below the picture revealed the travesty for what it truly was. The mother had died as complication of the delivery process. 'That explains why only the father was aboard the ship.' She thought to herself.  
  
Over her shoulder, Trip was trying to gauge her reactions. What was she feeling? He knew without any shred of doubt that she *did* feel something. Those terrible days on the leafy planet had taught him that her outer appearance was nothing but a well-crafted mask. A mask so well defined by centuries of her people that it had become a part of her very personality. But deep down, she was feeling something.  
  
"What's it say?" The captain asked.  
  
T'Pol was broken out of her solitude by his voice. Recalling her duties as an officer (and now, the guardian of this infant) she told him that the baby was an orphan.  
  
"What happened to the ship?" The engineer asked.  
  
Scrolling through the information on the PADD, T'Pol told them.  
  
"They were purging the impulse manifolds when there was a reactor breach. Apparently, the purges served as a catalyst because otherwise, nothing like this could have happened. They lost ninety-seven percent of their fuel and the breach damaged critical systems. They only had minimal life support."  
  
"So they directed it all to the stasis pod, and let themselves die." Phlox finished. "Honorable."  
  
"Logical." T'Pol stated.  
  
"Any idea why they were out here in the first place?"  
  
"No, I failed to research that information." She admitted  
  
The doctor had finished his check-up just as the little body began to stir. A little cry came from her tiny lips, and a fist shot into the air.  
  
"Well, she is in fine condition. My only question is: how are we going to feed her?" The Denobulan asked. T'Pol stepped forward. She peered down into the chamber at the female, who was now fully awake and fussy. But the moment she locked eyes with T'Pol, she stilled. They stared at each other; two sets of dark eyes searched each other, as thought reading the other's intentions. The baby was completely silent as T'Pol reached down to pick her up. Settling her against her shoulder, T'Pol traded glances with her companions. They also were silent, save for the Commander.  
  
"Whatcha gonna call her?" he asked. Despite the situation of her parents and the corpses on the other side of the airlock, a warm glow radiated from the little girl. Holding her in her arms was a kind of therapy for T'Pol, who answered,  
  
"Her name is Teval." As an afterthought, she wondered where she'd come by that information.  
  
"What should we do with the ship?" Archer asked her. Though the question was directed at her, he was focused on her charge.  
  
"Destroy it. That is what we do in times such as these." The SubCommander answered. She felt Teval's stomach rumble, and decided to feed her now before she vocalized her needs. She would simply have to replicate some formula. Gliding past the men, she strode down the well-lit corridors, completely wrapped up in her new companion.  
  
TBC  
  
A/N Continued: In case you were wondering, the answer is: Yes, I like babies! Hope you do too, because you'll be seeing a lot of Teval for the duration of this story. For those of you who are waiting for an actual plot, you can stop now. This is a character study disguised as a T/T ship 'fic. In all likelihood (unless the muse decides to change her image) there won't be a real plot. The only plot here is the crew dealing with a baby, Trip and T'Pol getting closer all set against the backdrop of them trying to get Teval to her relatives. Enjoy! 


	3. Chapter 3: Kids and Family

A/N: Yay! I'm back from Stanford and in total writing mode! You reviewers are the people to thank; you've guilted me into wanting to write more. I hate disappointing people. I'm still not sure where this story is going, but I think I have a rough idea. It may take a while though (meaning a few months), because I'll be leaving again soon for the International Convention of Youth for Democratic Values (sounds awful, doesn't it?) in Canada and then school starts. I will try, but it promises to be a very hectic start to the school year. Oh, and by the way . . . this story is dedicated to Becky. Because of her wonderfully kind efforts, I will finally see Season 1 (I've only seen a few of those episodes, since I began watching last summer). Thanks so very much for your time and generosity, Becky! I owe you a million. For you, I'll try to make this 'fic as good and enjoyable as possible.  
  
P.S Suggestions as welcome. Be forewarned that I'm under no obligation to use them, but if I do, I'll notify you and give you credit where it's due.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Trip Tucker sat in the officer's lounge, tending a cold beer. It had been hours since T'Pol had taken the kid back to her quarters, hours since he'd watched Malcolm destroy the drifting Vulcan vessel. He'd shuddered as the ship fragmented into an infinite number of pieces. It hadn't helped that there was no one alive on it. He'd finished his daily work, taken a shower and eaten. But after dinner, he'd been restless. Nothing could hold his attention for long, and no one was around to distract him. The captain was busy, T'Pol was with the baby, and only God knew where Travis and Hoshi were. Malcolm, he'd lay odds, was in the armory. And so, Trip had come back into the empty and seemingly large lounge with absolutely nothing to do but think.  
  
And of course, his thoughts took him down a path that was becoming very familiar. He'd often thought of T'Pol, but not as anything other than a Vulcan and his acting superior. But ever since that incident a few days ago (during which he'd had that telling revelation), he'd begun to wonder what she was like outside of work. It was an absurd thought, he realized. The SubCommander was never doing anything but work or something that would make her work more efficient. Nevertheless, he'd begun to wonder what she would be like if they were alone together again. Lately, she seemed to be okay with him, maybe even a little friendlier since the episode on that God- forsaken piece of swamp. And now with the little Vulcan onboard, he'd caught a glimpse of a distinctly human quality: care. It was the same as he'd seen on the planet, and Trip longed to see more of it.  
  
"Commander?"  
  
Trip looked up, completely caught off-guard. He smiled sheepishly, marveling at her ability to come across him just as he was thinking of her.  
  
"Evenin'." He said by way of greeting, gesturing to a chair beside him. "Care ta join me?" T'Pol sat gracefully with her tall glace of water, sipping it slowly. She was dressed comfortably, Trip noticed. Rarely had he seen her in anything other than that plain old uniform. Her trim body was enveloped in yards of heavy midnight blue fabric, ending in wide sleeves at her fingertips and a softly swishing hem at her toes. He'd always liked seeing her in civilian clothes. It was the only thing he could use to illustrate a picture of her on Vulcan, comfortable with her surroundings and away from the strict formality of duty.  
  
"You are staring, Commander." T'Pol told him, eyes averted. Trip grinned.  
  
"Sorry. It's not everyday I see you in a new outfit."  
  
"I wasn't aware you were interested in my clothing, Commander." She retorted dryly.  
  
"I'm interested in a lot of things, remember? You promised to tell me about some of 'em. And please," he added, making a pleading sign with his broad, flat hands, "call me something other than 'Commander'."  
  
T'Pol appeared to consider this for a moment. She deliberated, studying Trip and his motives. He became lost in her gaze. Those eyes were magnetic; he couldn't bring himself to look away. She suddenly seemed very close to him, he could sense her warmth, her very essence of life. It was the most intimate, yet distant feeling he'd ever had. It sent his mind reeling.  
  
T'Pol straightened her shoulders and took a breath. Her face was soft, relaxed. In a moment of insight, Trip could see she was tired.  
  
"Very well, may I call you Charles?"  
  
"Can't ya call me Trip?"  
  
"I'd rather not." She returned. Trip gave her a mock pout, which served only to provoke a ridiculously high eyebrow. He loved it when she did that.  
  
"What would you like to begin with?" She asked him. Trip thought for a moment. There were so many things he was curious about, but at this point he was still careful about what he said around her. Grasping at straws, he started with the most obvious thing that came to mind.  
  
"Well, do ya'll wear heavy and formal clothes like that all the time? Doesn't it get hot on a desert planet?"  
  
"I believe you already asked that question, but I will answer it again. Yes, our sun is very powerful, but the heat soon becomes commonplace and we are accustomed to it. We wear long robes for protection, but they are loose enough to ensure adequate ventilation. As to their formality, this particular garment is quite casual." She told him matter-of-factly. Trip nodded, waiting as she took a long drink from her glass before venturing his next question.  
  
"So, what's life like on Vulcan?"  
  
"Could you be more specific?"  
  
"Well, um," he stalled. Trip knew very well that Vulcans did not have fun, so he wasn't really interested about what adults did. "What do kids do?"  
  
"You are asking how children spend their time." She clarified.  
  
"Yeah, I guess so." He shrugged, downing the rest of his drink. It was not by accident that he had asked this particular question, and T'Pol knew it.  
  
"Mostly they devote their efforts to acquiring knowledge. When they are old enough, they attend schools. They spend a good deal of each day meditating, as well as assisting their parents with household chores."  
  
Trip was aghast on behalf of the deprived children. He personally couldn't perceive of a childhood without campfires, sports, and tree houses.  
  
"Don't they play at all? Have fun?"  
  
"As infants and toddlers they play with toys that encourage the use of logic, mathematics and language. They do not spend their time on pointless games." She told him. T'Pol knew where this conversation was heading. Right now, the last thing she wanted to do was defend her culture from the righteous engineer. She was simply too tired tonight.  
  
"My God, that's awful!" Trip exclaimed. T'Pol suppressed a sigh and countered,  
  
"You're opinion is biased. The methods behind the rearing of children are designed very carefully to make the transition from childhood to adulthood as easy as possible."  
  
"Fine, but you can't expect kids ta sit around thinkin' all day! It's just not natural."  
  
"Of course not. If they were allowed to behave naturally, our society would revert back to savagery." T'Pol told him. It was a risk she took; telling him about Vulcan's past. It wasn't a secret, but neither did her people publicize it. Of course, she knew he would want to know more. And, she reasoned, she wanted to tell him. If he knew all the details in full, perhaps it would help him understand her need for logic and order. For reasons not fully understood by her, it was important that he understand.  
  
"I've heard a little bit about that, but I don't think a little fun would make your entire society revert. There's just not enough spontaneity in you for that." Trip argued. T'Pol regarded him for several long moments. How could she possibly make him understand? Would she have to give him a detailed summary of her people's deepest secrets? Or should she use herself as an example and risk losing her precious privacy and self-respect?  
  
She was taking too long to answer. Trip got worried when T'Pol became like this. Though she was staring straight at him, it was like she was in her own little world; something very unusual for the focused and direct woman he knew. It reminded him of the time when the Suliban had locked them all in their quarters. Her voice.he never wanted to hear her sound like that ever again. He reached out a hand and laid it gently on her forearm. She reacted instantly and drew back, her gaze regaining its focus and steadfast blankness.  
  
"You all right?" he asked.  
  
T'Pol recalled the last time he had asked her that. It reminded her that he was trustworthy; loyal. She could confide in him.  
  
"Yes. I'm simply tired."  
  
"Then I won't keep you up. C'mon, I'll walk ya to yer quarters."  
  
They stood and walked leisurely through the network of corridors, continuing the conversation in shallower detail. When they arrived at her door, T'Pol could hear the sound of crying inside. She suppressed a sigh as the door opened. Thrashing with uncoordinated movements on the bed was Teval, obviously far from happy.  
  
"Looks like you won't be goin' to bed anytime soon." Trip commented. T'Pol gave him a look, which made him hide his grin behind his hand. T'Pol picked the child up and placed her fingers on the contact points. She briefly entered the child's erratic consciousness to ascertain the problem. As she did, Trip sat on the edge of the bed, fascinated. He didn't know for sure what she was doing, but he had a pretty good guess. When T'Pol's hand fell away from the baby, she didn't look any happier.  
  
"What's the problem?" Trip asked.  
  
"Nothing specific. She simply doesn't want to sleep." T'Pol continued to hold the wriggling little body, trying to soothe her. Minutes passed and nothing she did could calm the poor child. Finally, Trip could no longer stand it.  
  
"Here, let me take 'er."  
  
T'Pol hesitated. "She does not know you."  
  
"She doesn't know you either."  
  
"It's different because of your scent. You are alien the way another Vulcan cannot be."  
  
"She's young enough not to have become geared towards her own species." Trip persisted, still holding his arms out. "I'm the oldest of five kids, and I know how ta handle a baby. Just let me give it a try."  
  
The noise was taxing T'Pol's patience, so she did as he asked. Almost immediately, Teval stopped writhing. Her loud cries delineated into whimpers until finally she was silent all together. She stared up into Trip's face, giving him a very Vulcan stare as he rocked her gently back and forth. Gradually, her eyes began to close. Within half an hour of coming into his embrace, she was fast asleep. Satisfied, Trip turned back to T'Pol. She also was asleep, lying on the bed in her pretty robe. Trip watched her for a few minutes longer, savoring the sight. He then placed the baby within the circle of her free arm, and let both females rest.  
  
In his own bed later that evening, he lay awake thinking yet again about T'Pol. But this time he didn't think about her intelligence or beauty. Instead, he began to wonder what she would be like as a mother. He had no doubt she would be an excellent disciplinarian, but he had a feeling she would also be very caring. He could picture her with several children, each with his or her own PADD, asking her questions to which she would respond with the utmost patience. It brought a silly grin to his face, and led to other thoughts.  
  
Ridiculous as they were, he began to wonder what they would be like as parents of the same children. How lucky would those kids be! They'd have the best of both worlds. He'd never thought of another woman this way, and he felt that it was a significant change. In his past 'history', he'd never given thought to family life. He supposed it was because he hadn't exactly been looking for someone to start a family with. But now, with T'Pol . . . he wasn't sure, so he wouldn't jump to any conclusions but, the idea of spending his life with her (and thus, their children) was a beautiful dream. 


	4. Chapter 4: The trouble with babies

A/N: Yeah, here's chapter four. I have great news! The muse and plot gremlin have splurged and provided me with an actual plot! So, it's not just going to be a character study: YAY! Gear up, folks; we're in for a long haul. Also, in case you're confused, this story is dedicated to *both* Becky and Carrie. New dedications may pop up from time to time.  
  
Also, it may help to have read my previous story "Vulcan Siblings". It's not necessary, but it may help you understand who Emris is. The other brother, Stol, will be showing up later.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The following morning, Trip and T'Pol sat at the same table as they had the previous night. This time, they were joined by the baby, who was eagerly gulping down her Plomeek broth from T'Pol's spoon. Watching the thin green water disappear into her tiny lips, Trip suppressed a shudder.  
  
"Commander?" T'Pol said. Trip rolled his eyes. Was there anything she didn't notice?  
  
"I can't believe she's actually happy ta be eatin' that stuff."  
  
T'Pol looked at him blankly. "It is food, Commander. It's only natural that she eats it willingly, as she hasn't eaten since last night."  
  
"Yeah, but it's so unappetizing!"  
  
"A pleasing taste is secondary to nutritional value. Do not human children eat what is set before them?"  
  
Trip chuckled. If she only knew the pickiness of human kids. "Definitely not. They can only do that when they get older, usually around the teenage years. At that point, they eat everythin' they can get their hands on."  
  
Teval gurgled and burped as excess Plomeek broth dripped down her chin. Trip took a corner of his napkin and wiped her pudgy little face, grinning as she screwed her eyes shut.  
  
"Have you thought about getting her back to Vulcan?"  
  
"Yes. My brother is conducting some research for me."  
  
"Emris?"  
  
"No, my second oldest brother, Stol."  
  
Trip seemed surprised, but his answer was cut short as Hoshi and Malcolm came to stand beside him, both laden with trays.  
  
"Mind if we join you?" The linguist asked. Trip gestured to the empty chairs before continuing,  
  
"So how many siblings do you have, exactly?"  
  
T'Pol lifted Teval so that she was up on her shoulder and massaged her back in fluid circular movements to inducing any needed burping. She looked surprisingly tender, Trip noticed. He was beginning to like this new, softer side of T'Pol very much.  
  
"I have two older brothers." She said indifferently.  
  
"That must have been hard." Hoshi lamented, reaching a hand up to the baby. She stroked her tiny foot, playing with the miniscule curled toes.  
  
"Yes," Malcolm added, "one older brother is bad enough, but two . . . it must have been a constant struggle growing up."  
  
T'Pol's eyes narrowed. "I assure you it was not. My brothers have always treated me with respect and kindness. There was no struggle to speak of. They were my mentors and protectors."  
  
Teval burped and squirmed, trying to snuggle into T'Pol's neck. Accordingly, the adult Vulcan lowered her charge and allowed her to snuggle all she wanted. The feeling of the child's sigh against her skin sent a warm feeling spiral through her stomach, which was actually quite pleasant.  
  
"That's just it," Trip explained, "brothers tend to overprotect their little sisters. I knew I did. Wouldn't let 'em go out till they were sixteen, and even then the guys had to get past me first."  
  
T'Pol appeared to consider this for a moment, no doubt adding it to her human anthropology files. Teval's breathing had become deeper and she had stilled, thus signaling her successful journey into dreamland. Surprised at the ease of the action, T'Pol wondered why it had been nearly impossible last night. Looking up, she could see three faces of an unrecognizable expression watching her. She suddenly remembered the topic under discussion.  
  
"I see," she said, "that would not apply to us, as our marriages are arranged during childhood."  
  
Hoshi was astonished. "You mean; you've never been on a date?"  
  
"What would you say consistutes a 'date'?" She countered.  
  
Hoshi shrugged and looked towards the men for help. They looked more than uncomfortable, T'Pol noticed. Coming to the conclusion that they wouldn't be of any help, Hoshi turned back to T'Pol.  
  
"A date is when someone asks to spend time with the object of their affections. Usually they're alone, but sometimes they go out with another couple. In any case, its purpose is getting to know each other to see if pursuing a relationship is a possibility."  
  
"In that case, I have never dated." She stood and excused herself, telling them that she was going to put Teval down for her morning nap. After she'd left, Trip tried to change the subject, but Hoshi was onto something.  
  
"Wait a minute, if they arrange marriages when they're kids, does that mean she engaged?!" Looking at their faces, she knew Malcolm was as curious as she. But Trip was definitely feeling a different kind of emotion. His face was an interesting shade of pink and he seemed to be looking everywhere except at her. And to her finely tuned ears, his accent had become much thicker.  
  
"Maybe, but . . . um . . . uh. . . yeah. Anyway, I'm due on the bridge. See y'all later."  
  
Hoshi decided to file that interesting tidbit away for later. For some reason, she was beginning to suspect that something was going on between her two commanding officers.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Back in her quarters for only a moment, T'Pol surveyed the little figure sleeping on her bed. Satisfied that she would sleep soundly for a few hours, she took the opportunity to check her personal computer. Still no word from her brother. It was odd that the search was taking so long, she mused. Glancing at the chronometer, she stood and took one last look at Teval before silently leaving the room. She knew she would have to check on her soon, and she didn't like the idea of leaving the baby all alone. Already she had begun to feel something for Teval, a kind of closeness that she had rarely felt before. She wondered if this was how she would feel about her own family, in the event that she would marry. The breakfast conversation had stirred up thoughts of her betrothal, and consequently its end. She didn't like to think that she would remain alone for the entirety of her life.  
  
T'Pol entered the bridge and proceeded to the daily debriefing towards the back of the room. Her colleagues had already assembled there, waiting to see what today would bring them. The captain greeted her from the head of the consol.  
  
"How's the baby?"  
  
"She is currently sleeping." She responded.  
  
"Any problems?"  
  
"Nothing that Mr. Tucker and I couldn't deal with." She replied nonchalantly.  
  
Archer's eyebrows rose as he ventured a glance at his smug chief engineer. How Trip had come to be of use to a Vulcan baby, he would never guess. Actually, he had never heard of his best friend actively helping with children, and he said as much. Trip shrugged and gave T'Pol a secret smile.  
  
"Guess it's just part of the ol' Tucker charm."  
  
Archer shook his head, trying to convince himself that Trip was not flirting with T'Pol in full view of the entire senior staff. If T'Pol had noticed anything, she kept it to herself. But looking at the way she and Trip stood next to each other, Archer knew their relationship was progressing. He also decided that it was time to get a clear understanding of Starfleet's feelings on the matter. He finished up the debriefing and sent everyone to their duties before retiring to his Ready Room. He was about to have a long overdue discussion with Admiral Forrest.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
That evening, T'Pol sat at her desk as Teval played on one of her meditation mats with a set of blocks. T'Pol was dressed again in civilian clothing and was awaiting Trip's arrival. He had expressed an interest in meditation and they had scheduled his first session for that evening. And as expected, he was late, no doubt making a few modifications to the engines or fixing minor problems. As a Vulcan, she could appreciate his willingness to devote extra time to his work, but she also appreciated punctuality. The chime of her doorbell sounded.  
  
"Come in." She called, shutting her computer monitor down. Trip entered looking somewhat shamefaced, but upon closer inspection she learned that he wasn't ashamed at all.  
  
"Before you say a word' let me show ya what made me late." His grin held mischief and his hands were behind his back; an unnatural pose for the informal man. T'Pol stayed in her chair and waited. He produced from behind his back a collapsible box of sorts.  
  
"So this explains your tardiness," she said, "What is it?"  
  
"A playpen. I figure you could probably keep Teval on the bridge durin' your shift, and that way you wouldn't have to keep checkin' on her all the time."  
  
T'Pol regarded the pen, intrigued with the idea. Vulcans had similar devices, but the thought of using one had slipped her mind. It presented an ideal solution to one of her problems.  
  
"You think Captain Archer will allow her on the bridge?" Trip had already opened the pen and placed Teval inside, testing its sturdiness. Apparently pleased with it, he sat back on his haunches, watching the baby play with her blocks.  
  
"Sure. She's quiet enough, and won't be too much of a distraction. Besides, we can see you're preoccupied with her. This'll increase your efficiency, to coin your phrase."  
  
T'Pol was mildly alarmed. They knew she was preoccupied? Had her performance level dropped so noticeably in just one day? Still mulling over it, she sank onto the pillow nearest to her, while Trip did the same across the table. Returning to the events at hand, T'Pol prepared to concentrate. She would deal with the disturbing information later.  
  
"Are you ready?" She asked. At his nod, she took his hand and placed her fingertips along the creases, finding the pressure points. She closed her eyes, readying herself for the initial shock of telepathic connection. Almost instantly, she could feel his presence in her mind: a warm, rust- tasting entity. She was surprised at the relative peacefulness of his psyche.  
  
"Breathe with me." She murmured, counting the seconds between each inhalation and exhalation. Trip did as he was told, and soon forgot that he was sitting in T'Pol's quarters. He was in a desert, he realized with a start. But this wasn't like the deserts that he hated. For one thing, the sand was so fine and soft it may as well have been dust. All he could see was mountains and dunes of the strange substance, changing from brown-red to crimson and back to rust, sometimes stark against the sky and other time melting into it. It was breathtaking.  
  
"T'Pol." He whispered, wanting to know if she could see it as well.  
  
"Yes?" her voice seemed to come at him from all directions.  
  
"Where am I?"  
  
"This is the largest desert on Vulcan. My home is not far from here."  
  
"How can I see this?" he sounded a little scared, even to his own ears. And with good reason, he thought. He'd never experienced something like this before.  
  
"When we meditate, we are taught to focus on our personal place of calm; a place where we feel safe. You are seeing it because I am showing it to you."  
  
They said no more, and Trip was content simply to gaze at the spectacular view. Everything here was so open, but at the same time so protected; so isolated. He could see why this was her 'place'. A sound in the distance reached his ears, and he frowned. A sound like that didn't seem to fit in with the desert. Suddenly, his vision blurred and he felt himself moving again, being pulled from the trance and back into the realm of reality. He opened his eyes, expecting to see T'Pol across from him. When she wasn't there, he twisted; squinting into the dim light to locate her and that sound. He found her on the bed, rocking a thrashing Teval in her arms. Trip groaned and crawled over to T'Pol's side, holding his arms out for the seemingly inconsolable baby. She gladly handed her over.  
  
While Trip worked his magic again, T'Pol stole a look at her chronometer. They had meditated for nearly thirty minutes. Normally, that wasn't long enough to be considered a full session, but tonight it would have to do. They couldn't very well concentrate with a crying baby in the background. She looked back at the pair, and found Teval had quieted. A few minutes longer and she was asleep. Trip gently placed her on the bed, and yawned. He grinned sleepily at T'Pol.  
  
"That was a hell of an experience."  
  
"The meditation, or being brought out of it?" She asked wryly, stretching her back. Trip watched the muscles move beneath her robe and swallowed hard, fighting to keep his breathing at a normal rate.  
  
"The meditation. I'd like to do it again sometime, if yer willin'." His voice sounded hoarse.  
  
"Of course. You seem to have a natural aptitude." She told him, crossing the room to extinguish her candles. Trip took it as a sign that it was time to leave.  
  
"Thanks and sweet dreams, T'Pol. I'll see ya in the mornin'."  
  
"Indeed. Goodnight, Charles."  
  
At the sound of his title-less name on her lips, Trip couldn't help but let his smile grown into a full-fledged grin. He left T'Pol and Teval to themselves, but the night was not going to progress they way they expected.  
  
Moments after the man had left the room, Teval had taken up her cry again. T'Pol soothed her as best she could, but it seemed she just didn't have the 'magic touch', as Charles liked to say. She executed one form of comfort after another, but nothing had any affect on Teval. In a last attempt, she called Mr. Tucker back to her quarters. He arrived, sleepy but pleased, and agreed to take the infant with him for the night.  
  
T'Pol hadn't been asleep more than five minutes when her doorbell chimed for the third time that night. Trip stepped in, gripping a screaming Teval as gently as he could. T'Pol marveled at the power of her tiny lungs before taking her back into her own arms. And just as soon as she had, Teval quieted, snuggling herself into T'Pol's neck as she had done earlier. Trip sat heavily on the bed, slack-jawed from exhaustion and shock.  
  
"I don't understand." He offered simply. T'Pol confessed she didn't either.  
  
"It seems she isn't content unless both of us are near her." She said, resisting the urge to lie back down.  
  
Trip scratched the stubble of his jaw, thinking. T'Pol didn't have to ask; she had arrived at the same conclusion, more or less.  
  
"I'll stay until she's been asleep for a while." He offered, getting off the bed and settling on the closest floor pillow. T'Pol lay back down with Teval tucked into the curve of her arm, and fell instantly into a deep, dreamless sleep. Neither adult realized that they had both spent the night in her quarters until the following morning.  
  
A/N Continued: Yep, that's it for this one. What do you think? In chapter five, we'll begin to get into the actual plot. Be patient with me, I have a bunch of things to do: College applications, school work, SAT studying, and extra-curriculars. It might take me a while, but reviews have been known to speed the process considerably ;) 


	5. Chapter 5: Secrets

Archer sat at his cramped desk in the Ready Room late that evening, waiting to be connected to Admiral Forrest back at Starfleet HQ. He drummed his fingers, thinking about the best way to approach this new dilemma. Normally, he wouldn't have a problem with two crewmembers getting together, but as he'd told his chief engineer, any such relationship would have to be kept quiet. At the time, he seemed to understand. But after seeing that little exchange on the bridge, Archer began to wonder if two senior-most staff members knew what they were doing. Surely T'Pol wouldn't engage in such conduct willingly, he told himself. But then again, he didn't know what exactly had happened on that planet, and he'd recently begun to realize that he knew less about than he'd previously thought.  
  
Jon stood and paced, frustrated with the whole situation and himself. He didn't like to think why he was reacting this way. If it were any other two people, he wouldn't be feeling so . . . worried. The computer beeped, and Forrest's balding head came into view.  
  
"It's been a while, Jon."  
  
Archer smiled. "I know. We've been pretty busy out here, and it's hard enough keeping up to date with the logs."  
  
The admiral smiled knowingly. "So what's on your mind?"  
  
Jon sighed and steepled his fingers. "I need to know . . . how strict do I have to be with the fraternization rules?"  
  
Forrest looked taken aback. "Ideally, you're supposed to follow all the rules to a tee, but you aren't that kind of man, Jon. Is there a particular situation you're concerned about?'  
  
Archer deliberated. "Yes and no. I just want to know if the all the rules still apply, given our unique mission."  
  
Forrest took a deep breath and thought for a few moments, no doubt going over the archaic rules mentally. Finally he replied, "I suppose not. You can't prevent relationships from forming, and it wouldn't be right to strictly enforce all the rules, seeing as how no one knows how long you'll be out there. Just tell whoever it is to keep it quiet, and don't let it mess with the command structure."  
  
Archer smiled, but inside he was still uneasy. He'd already done that, and while he trusted the both the people in question with his life, he wasn't really comfortable with the idea of them being openly together.  
  
"I'll do that." He said.  
  
"I'll have to check with some people, but I think they'll agree that this is the way to go. You might want to discuss it with SubCommander T'Pol. I'm sure you know what she'll say, but she could bring up some valid points."  
  
Jon nodded. The admiral had no idea how wrong he was. With that, he ended the transmission and sat back heavily in his chair. Trip and T'Pol could be together, fine. But there had to be limits.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Several hours later, Trip awoke to a sore back and a hybrid case of amnesia and déjà vu. He couldn't understand why there were things in his room were strangely familiar but not his, nor could he quite make out why he was on the floor to begin with. Then he turned around and saw two Vulcan women on the bed, and it all came back to him.  
  
Both were still sound asleep, and Trip decided to make his getaway before the adult one woke up. He didn't like to think what she'd have to say if she found out he'd spent the entire night on her floor. Tiptoeing across the cabin, he managed to make it half way to the door before tripping over some artifact. The noise and hushed cursing that ensued was enough to bring the sonically-sensitive woman back to consciousness. Much to Trip's embarrassment, T'Pol sat up, headless of the fact that her top was pulled up across her ribs and leaving a good deal less to the imagination than Trip would have preferred. She gazed at him with an expression too blank to be genuine. Trip sighed.  
  
"Guess I fell asleep."  
  
"Obviously. In any case, it kept Teval asleep as well. I hope you weren't too uncomfortable." She said, slipping out of bed and heading towards her computer. Trip stretched a bit and yawned.  
  
"Nothin' too bad. I'll get goin' so you can get ready."  
  
He left, hoping no one would notice him coming out of the SubCommander's quarters at 0730.  
  
After he had gone, T'Pol set about getting ready for the day. According to today's schedule, she would be on the night shift; meaning she would have the entire day to delegate to various other tasks. Glancing over at her still sleeping charge, she decided the first thing to do was contact her brother Stol. He should know something about Teval's family by now, she reasoned. Satisfied that the little one could amuse herself for a little while, she made herself comfortable and tried to contact her home world. When no connection was established, she pursed her lips. She didn't have time to try again before she was pitched to the floor by the violent shaking of the ship. Teval screamed and T'Pol crawled over to her. Standing on the heaving deck plating, she left her cabin and headed for the bridge as quickly as she could, dodging falling crewmen everywhere as the claxons sounded.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
By the time Trip and T'Pol had reached the bridge, the attack was over. Archer stood and turned towards the lift as they stumbled out of it. Trip immediately raced to Malcolm's side, looking over his shoulder as T'Pol took her place at the science consol. If anyone noticed that she was without her usual garb, they prudently said nothing.  
  
"Who was it?" The captain asked tersely.  
  
Still holding the baby, T'Pol responded in her typically calm manner, "Unknown. It was a small battle cruiser."  
  
"Why would a battle cruiser be alone?" Lt. Reed wondered out loud. Hoshi looked over her shoulder to see T'Pol struggling to get more accurate information with Teval wriggling in her grasp. She sighed and reached out for her, and the SubCommander handed her over without a qualm. Returning to her station, Hoshi crooned softly to the infant in Vulcan as order was restored to the NX-01.  
  
"That's a good question." Trip remarked in response to Malcolm's musing.  
  
"Any answers?" Archer asked.  
  
Malcolm shook his head. It simply wasn't smart, from his perspective. Looking over the weapons array, that ship definitely could have done some serious damage to them, but Enterprise could have destroyed it, given half the chance.  
  
"It doesn't make any sense, sir." He told his captain, "completely idiotic strategy, really."  
  
"Not necessarily." T'Pol murmured. They turned to look at her, only to find her staring intently at the baby Vulcan who sat calmly in Hoshi's lap. She rose slowly and crossed to the ensign's station, gently lifting the edge of Teval's robe that had left her chubby knees exposed.  
  
"What do you mean?" Trip asked. He had come over to her side of the bridge, using her consol to check the status of the engines, as was expected of him. Lifting an eyebrow, T'Pol took Teval back into her arms and scrutinized the inside of her thigh more closely.  
  
"Rarely attackers strike without a purpose. Since this has never happened to us before, it's logical to assume that the reason involves Teval."  
  
Malcolm's face lit up. "It could have been a scout," he announced "testing us for weaknesses."  
  
Trip's head flew up, surprise written clearly across his honest visage. Then the surprise melted as a dangerous fire ignited in his eyes. T'Pol knew that look well; she had often been the person to provoke it. He was furious.  
  
"Yer sayin' they wanted ta hurt her?" he demanded. T'Pol noted he was jumping to conclusions. Again. She fought back a sigh.  
  
"That is *not* what I said." She rebuked him. Regardless, Trip came over and inspected the baby. Archer noticed his proximity to her like a father with his daughter's boyfriend. Trip was acting like Teval was his own. 'And T'Pol his wife.' He realized. He shook his head, trying to clear the uncomfortable feeling that other people were seeing the same thing.  
  
"What's this mark?" Trip was asking, inspecting a strange tattoo-like image hidden within a fold of skin.  
  
"I noticed it also," T'Pol responded. "It's a series of numbers. A code, most likely."  
  
Hoshi looked at Malcolm, distaste clearly expressed in her face. "Why would anyone tattoo a baby?" She asked.  
  
T'Pol turned her cool gaze towards the young ensign, who blushed for her criticism of the Vulcan race. Despite her individuality, T'Pol was immensely protective of her people. Malcolm smiled and exchanged a look with Trip.  
  
"It is not a normal practice. I have no idea why her father chose to do it, but I'm sure there was a valid reason." She turned back to the captain, who was looking at her strangely. T'Pol wasn't sure what it meant, but now was not the time to dwell on it.  
  
"If you don't mind Captain, I'd like to contact Vulcan. This issue needs to be addressed."  
  
Archer nodded his head, and T'Pol curtly left. He surveyed the remainder of the bridge crew. Everything seemed to have returned to normalcy, but he never liked an unsolved mystery.  
  
"Hoshi," he said, coming to lean on the railing surrounding her station, "be on extra alert today. I don't want whoever that was to surprise us again."  
  
The Japanese woman smiled, "Yes sir."  
  
Straightening, Archer spotted Trip heading for the lift. Steeling himself for the coming confrontation, he called out after his best friend,  
  
"A moment, Trip."  
  
The engineer turned back, waiting. Archer gestured to the Ready Room and followed him in, swallowing the lump in his throat. Once the door had slid shut behind them, Trip relaxed and turned thoughtful eyes towards Jon. Archer sighed, trying to make this as painless as possible.  
  
"How are you, Trip?" He began. It wasn't much, but it was better than hitting the southerner all at once. This had to be handled very delicately, he knew. Trip was known for his temper, although at the moment he was cool as a head of lettuce.  
  
"I'm fine, sir." He said. Cleary, there was something going on. He knew when Jon was uneasy, and he was definitely antsy about something. But there was no use drawing it out of him; he'd say whatever it was sooner or later. At this rate, Trip hoped it would be sooner this time. He wanted to get back to his team and engines.  
  
"How are things . . . personally?" Archer attempted, finally coming to perch on the edge of his desk.  
  
Trip resisted the urge to imitate 'the T'Pol'. Instead, he sighed. "Could ya be more specific, Cap'n?"  
  
There was a long pause before Archer spoke. When he did, it was very quiet, as though it was a classified secret.  
  
"How are things with you and T'Pol?"  
  
Trip smiled slightly. "They're great. Why do ya ask?"  
  
Archer sighed and wrung his hands together. "You remember when I told you it was fine, but you had to keep it quiet?"  
  
Trip nodded.  
  
"You haven't really been keeping it quiet, Trip."  
  
For a moment, Trip froze. 'Shit!' he thought frantically. 'He knows I slept in her room! Shitshitshit!"  
  
"I don't know if it's just me or if it really is that obvious," the Captain continued, "but you've got to be more discreet. We're breaking enough rules as it is."  
  
"Cap'n," Trip began hesitantly, "I don't know what you think you saw out there, but there's nothing goin' on."  
  
Archer looked dubious, so Trip went on, "I don't even know if she knows yet. The way I feel about her, I mean. As far as I can tell, she still thinks I just want to be a friend."  
  
He looked so downhearted that Archer had to sympathize. He knew what it was like not to have your feelings reciprocated. And he trusted Trip. If he said nothing was going on, then it was the truth. He simply must have been reading too much into it.  
  
"Are you sure she doesn't? She's a pretty perceptive woman, Trip."  
  
"Yeah, but still, she's a stickler for protocol. And even if she did feel the same way, I don't think she'd admit it."  
  
"Well if it helps, I spoke to Admiral Forrest last night. He pretty much echoes what I told you, so you can pass that on to her, if you want."  
  
Trip shrugged. "I'm just bidin' my time. She's so busy with Teval I hardly see have time ta talk to 'er. I figure once she's not so preoccupied, she'll realize what I'm about."  
  
Archer smiled and gripped his friend's shoulder. "I hope it works out, Trip; I really do. Just take it as it comes, and don't give me any reason to repeat this conversation, okay?  
  
Trip grinned. "Yessir. Now if ya don't mind, I'd like ta get down to ma engine room."  
  
Archer gave him a look, but there was mirth in his eyes that made him look like a much younger man. Trip rolled his eyes and laughed.  
  
"Fine, your engine."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
This time, T'Pol didn't have to connect to Vulcan herself. Just as she had finished dressing herself and Teval her monitor beeped, signaling a personal call. As expected, it was her second oldest brother, Stol. He was as she remembered him, and the sight of him stirred up shallow feelings of longing for her family, especially her brothers.  
  
"It has been too long, T'Pol." He said by way of greeting. Stol was less expressive than their older brother Emris, but he also had always shown a certain degree of affection for his sister.  
  
"Indeed." She responded. "Have you found any of Teval's relatives?"  
  
"I've discovered a good deal more than her genealogy. Emris and I are on an intercept course for Enterprise, maximum warp."  
  
"Am I to assume there is something . . . special about my charge?" She inquired, looking at the sleeping baby in the playpen.  
  
"Yes, but we are not sure what it is, exactly. I'm afraid only you can determine that, once you are in possession of the facts."  
  
"And when will that be?"  
  
"We should reach you in 12.7 hours. Stol out."  
  
The transmission ended, and T'Pol went over to Teval's pen. As much as she disliked admitting it even to herself, she was worried. What secrets was this child tied to? In a moment of impulsiveness that she excused as a maternal instinct, she lifted Teval and held her close to her breast, feeling her tiny breaths against her neck.  
  
A/N: Okay, we're getting into the plot now. Sorry this has taken so long; life's a pain in the butt. Anyway, the next one could be a while in coming. So relax, watch the season premier this week, and I'll get chapter 6 out as fast as I can. 


	6. Chapter 6: Kidnapped

Brooding and silent as usual, Lt. Malcolm Reed sat at his consol on the bridge. He was still going over that morning's attack, and the more he thought about it, the more unsettled he became. The theory of a scout ship was the only obvious choice, and that worried him to no end. There was no telling what a few more of those ships could do to Enterprise. If only T'Pol would tell them what was going on! He sighed and shifted in his seat. Reeds didn't get nervous, he told himself, but it wasn't working. He needed to get away from these scans, he realized. Standing and grabbing a PADD, he made his way towards the back of the bridge.  
  
"Where are you going, Lieutenant?" Archer asked. His voice was sharper than usual, Malcolm noticed, but he supposed that was a good thing.  
  
"Engineering sir, and then the armory. I'm going to need Commander Tucker's assistance in reconfiguring the torpedos."  
  
Archer nodded his consent, and Malcolm proceeded on his way. As he walked the corridors, he knew escaping the feeling of trepidation was impossible. The ship was oddly silent, and it gave him all the more reason to speculate. The crew always became this way after some attack, and it never failed to remind him that none of them were soldiers. The reminder was not a comforting one.  
  
Even the bustling domain of Trip Tucker was quieter. The chief himself was secluded in his office, doing only God-knew-what. Malcolm cleared his throat to announce his presence. When there was no response, he ventured,  
  
"Commander Tucker."  
  
"I heard ya the first time, Mal. Just gimme one more minute an' then we can go play with yer torpedos for the rest of the day."  
  
Lt. Reed rolled his eyes as a corner of his mouth curved up into a wayward smile. Would this man ever take security seriously? No, he chuckled to himself, and it was better that way. Heaven forbid Trip lost his sense of playfulness and informality.  
  
"All right, I'm ready." The engineer stated, putting his schematics and PADDS away with an air of satisfaction.  
  
"But before we go, would ya tell me why we're modifyin' those cannons again? Seems we've done it three or four times already."  
  
Reed raised an eyebrow, much to Trip's annoyance.  
  
"Stop that. I get enough 'God, I can't believe you just asked that question' looks from Our Lady of Logic. This time Malcolm laughed out loud, and it felt good to release some of that tension.  
  
Clapping him on the shoulder, Trip smiled. It was harder to be happy on days when the entire universe seemed to be against them, so he took every opportunity that came along to lighten the general mood. Everybody needed a little sunshine right now.  
  
"C'mon, let's go have some fun, Reed-style."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
T'Pol came to the bridge briefly, her only purpose to inform the captain of her call. Stepping onto the bridge with Teval in hand, she headed directly for the Ready Room. Pushing the announce button, she waited until his usual "Come in." had reached her ears. Stepping into the room, she paused just inside the doorway. Archer was peering out the window again, as usual.  
  
"Decided to tell reveal some classified information?" he asked. He didn't bother to hide the bitterness from his voice.  
  
"I've just received a communication from my brother. He's uncovered some . . . interesting information regarding Teval, and they will be here in approximately twelve hours."  
  
The captain turned to look at his first officer, and just noticed that Teval was with her. The baby was oddly silent, staring at him in the same manner T'Pol did whenever she was puzzled. He smiled at her and held out a finger, which she grasped with surprising strength and held on to.  
  
"T'Pol, I know you want to protect your secrets, but I really need to know what's going on here."  
  
The Vulcan gazed back at him coolly and shifted the infant to her other side. Teval did not make a sound.  
  
"I would also like to know that, Captain. I do not know what secrets surround Teval, nor do I have any idea why her ship was all alone or why the High Command didn't send a rescue."  
  
Archer still didn't look any happier. He sighed and turned away.  
  
"And your brother does?"  
  
"Perhaps. It remains to be seen, since he did not reveal anything to me in the communication"  
  
In any event, Archer's happiness was not the issue at hand. T'Pol only wanted to get the child to safety, and thus protect Enterprise from any danger attracted to her. Her captain sat heavily at the little desk, apparently thinking.  
  
"Alright, we'll just roll with the punches. Dismissed." He told her.  
  
Noting that he sounded tired, T'Pol only nodded her head before exiting the Ready Room. She needed to meditate, and it was time for Teval's nap. She hoped that she would cooperate, preferably without the presence of Mr. Tucker. While T'Pol appreciated the opportunity to get to know that man better, she would prefer to do so when the atmosphere was less tense.  
  
Arriving back at her quarters, she placed Teval on the bed. Pleased to see that she was already on the verge of unconsciousness, she indulged herself in another maternal moment. She knew that any attachment to the child was pointless and potentially dangerous, but it wasn't something that could be helped. She cared for this child, and was foolishly beginning to plan her future.  
  
Shaking her head at the folly of her own emotions, T'Pol knelt at her low table and began her breathing exercises. Thoughts of Teval and Mr. Tucker would have to wait.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"So," Malcolm said as he handed the recalibration tool to Trip, who was underneath the third torpedo, "I hear you and T'Pol have become quite the family."  
  
Tucker rolled out on the sled, fixing Malcolm with a typical look that communicated he was not amused by the armory officer's comment. However, the effect was cancelled by the flush in his face and the nearly invisible smirk on his lips.  
  
"Just hand me that wrench, would ya?"  
  
Pondering the Commander's unusual behavior, Malcolm persisted as he complied with the request.  
  
"I even heard the little one's quite taken with you. So much, in fact, that she won't sleep unless you're near.  
  
"Now that's just plain untrue." Trip retorted, glad his friend hadn't heard about (or at least, hadn't mentioned) him actually spending the night in the famed SubCommander's quarters. "She was crabby, and I've gotta knack with babies. Bein' the oldest in my family, it just came natural."  
  
Malcolm shrugged. "I'm just surprised T'Pol hasn't snapped at someone yet. She doesn't strike me as the type to be particularly fond of children."  
  
Trip sat up, wiping his brow with the cuff of his sleeve. He stood and walked over to the nearest consol, checking on the status of things in engineering. Over his shoulder he called,  
  
"Actually, she's a big softy. That baby's had a greater affect on her than two years of us has."  
  
"Really?" Malcolm's interest was piqued.  
  
Trip grinned conspiratorially, "The other night, she spent a few hours re- modulatin' one of her precious Vulcan PADDs so the kid could have something to play with."  
  
"That's hardly surprising," Lt. Reed commented, stretching his spine. "She probably did it to keep her quiet."  
  
Trip shook his head. "You're wrong, Mal. There's a much more feminine side to that woman, and it takes the charm of a baby to bring it out."  
  
Malcolm gave him a mischievous grin and replied, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were hiding smitten, Commander."  
  
Trip laughed this ludicrous comment off and turned back towards the fourth torpedo, but the flush in his cheek and the secret smile still lingering just beneath his face was enough to alert anyone to his true feelings. It shocked Malcolm into stillness for only a moment. Then, as if of its own accord, his mouth betrayed centuries of strict Reed propriety.  
  
"Oh. My. God."  
  
Trip glanced back, puzzled. "What?"  
  
"You are!"  
  
"I am what?"  
  
Realizing there were other people in the vicinity, Malcolm stepped closer, pretending to busy himself by removing the manual control panel from the torpedo. "Smitten." He whispered.  
  
Trip's eyes narrowed and his mouth opened to deny it, but no words would come out. Feeling the heat in his ears, the engineer cleared his throat and tried again,  
  
"I have no idea what you're talkin' about."  
  
"Trip . . ." Malcolm's tone told the southerner that concealing the truth was futile; he knew and he knew for certain. Trip sighed and ran a hand through his hair.  
  
"Look Mal, this isn't something . . ." he was cut off by the sounding of the "Reed Alert" for the second time that day, followed by the Captain's hail of,  
  
"All hands report to stations. We're under attack."  
  
Sprinting for the corridor and the lift, the men's conversation was forgotten as the ship shuddered under the enemy's fire.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
T'Pol had only just heard the alarm when the sound of a transporter filled her ears. Standing in utter confusion, it was only moments before a large and dark figure appeared directly in front of her. Not hesitating for an instant, she readied herself for combat. The figure didn't give her a chance to initiate it.  
  
Lunging at her and grabbing her arm, he threw her up against the bulkhead, which shook and spilled her Vulcan possessions. Stunned, she watched with strange detachment as he snatched the screaming Teval off the bunk and exposed her leg, no doubt searching for the code engraved in her skin. Having found it, he flipped open a communicator and barked out a few harsh words. His form began to shimmer and dissipate again, and without thinking T'Pol threw herself at him. One second later, there was no one in the Vulcan's quarters.  
  
A/N: Yay, the actual plot begins! I'm not sure how good it's going to be, because it involves quite a bit of technical stuff that I'm not good at. If anyone out there wants to help me out with it, I'd be much obliged! If you want to see more, you have to review. That's my new policy these days (targeted to those of you who read but are too lazy to click the little button in the corner and tell me what you think). 


	7. Chapter 7: Big Brothers and Little Boxes

A/N: Thanks to all of you who have waited so patiently for my chapters. I know it's incredibly frustrating to have to wait so long, but I'm doing this as often as I can. The good news is my schedule is slowing down a bit, so hopefully I'll be able to speed up the process. Oh, and please go read "Reflections: Hope and Relief". It's a little T/T vignette about Twilight that I posted on Saturday.  
  
On the bridge, Archer gripped his seat as the ship shuddered violently around him. Four of those same ships had suddenly dropped down on them out of nowhere, and had proceeded to volley Enterprise with alien fire. He barely noticed the arrival of his chief engineer and tactical officer until they began shouting damage reports to him.  
  
"Hull plating's holding at eighty-percent, but at this rate we can't hold out for long." Tucker yelled as sparks flew up from the consol where he sat.  
  
Archer whipped around to face Reed, who looked grimmer than usual.  
  
"Malcolm?" The captain prompted.  
  
"They're too fast and two many, sir. They'll cripple us before we can disable even two of them."  
  
A particularly hard jolt knocked them around, and actually threw Archer from his seat. Trying to get his footing among the confusion, he stumbled back to the command chair. Flashing lights throughout the bridge signaled the shutdown of auxiliary systems.  
  
"Hull plating's down to thirty-nine percent!" Commander Tucker shouted. "The warp engine's offline!" He bolted for the turbolift, but Archer stopped him.  
  
"Stay where you are, Commander!"  
  
Tucker did as he was told, staring back at his friend in a moment of utter confusion.  
  
"There's nothing we can do about it right now. I need you here." Archer continued, trying hard to keep calm.  
  
Trip dumbly returned to the consol, saying nothing. Only then did they notice the sudden stillness. Archer turned around anxiously, starring out of the main viewscreen. It was empty.  
  
"Sir, they're gone!" Travis exclaimed. Archer came down to stand behind him, still staring at the viewscreen as though the nameless enemies would come back as abruptly as they had left.  
  
"Status report." He ordered, turning around again to view his senior crew. He started with Travis and made his way around the room, stopping when he reached Trip. The engineer was seated at T'Pol's consol. Archer was suddenly struck by her absence, and realized she hadn't come to the bridge at all during the conflict. Meeting his eyes, he knew Trip had realized the same. Immediately, the commander hailed her through the comm.  
  
"Bridge to T'Pol."  
  
There was no response. Trying to keep the desperation out of his voice, Trip tried again. And as expected, there was no response. He swallowed hard, praying that he wouldn't be sick. He turned scared eyes towards his captain, his friend. Archer knew that plea, and couldn't ignore the deeper meaning behind it.  
  
"Find her, Trip."  
  
Accordingly, the other man dashed from the bridge. He ran through the corridors at top speed, knocking crewman out of his way without a second thought. He burst into her quarters, and stopped. He spun, searching for either of the two Vulcans. But he was alone. Panic was rising in his throat, threatening to choke him. He took long, deep breaths. T'Pol. Where was she? She wasn't on the bridge and she wasn't in her quarters. Sickbay, maybe? He flew down to Phlox's area of the ship.  
  
Entering, he scanned the sea of Starfleet issue blue jumpsuits for the Vulcan garb of the SubCommander. When he couldn't find her, he made his way over to Phlox, who was tending one of Malcolm's security officers. By the looks of it, she had a dislocated shoulder, and Phlox was busy. So busy that it took several attempts for Trip's questions to register with the physician.  
  
"I haven't seen her, Commander, but I'm sure she's around here somewhere." Phlox said curtly, opening one of his many cages.  
  
But that was just the problem: T'Pol wasn't to be found. Trip arrived back at the bridge, chest heaving as he gasped out to the captain,  
  
"Can't -find her."  
  
Archer couldn't believe it. "What?"  
  
Trip was back at the T'Pol's consol, fingers flying across the keys. "I couldn't find'er. Looked everywhere." He managed. Then his brows drew together in frustration.  
  
"Hoshi, can you run an internal scan?"  
  
The comm. officer said nothing as she attempted to do as he asked. Several minutes later, after re-routing energy from several of the less important ship-wide systems, she announced,  
  
"Everyone's aboard but T'Pol and Teval."  
  
"That's not possible," Malcolm said from across the room. "They didn't board us; there's no way they could have taken them."  
  
Archer paced the short space of deck plating in front of his chair. It didn't make any sense. Finally, he turned back to Trip, who was unusually silent.  
  
"Did you notice anything strange at all? Nothing in her quarters?"  
  
Trip tried to calm himself down long enough to think about the question. Anything unusual, no . . . except for the fact that they had both vanished into thin air! He sighed and tried to focus harder. Getting upset wouldn't solve anything. 'Too bad I'm already more upset than I ever have been in my life.' He said to himself. Thinking back, he did seem to remember debris scattered around the floor.  
  
"Actually, sir," he began, "there was some stuff layin' around her cabin, but it could've just fallen during the firefight."  
  
"Let's go check it out. Lieutenant, you have the bridge." Archer said, leaving the bridge with Trip. The walk down to her cabin was tense. Neither man said a word. Upon entering T'Pol's quarters, they did see remnants of what had once been a vase of sorts. But other than that, nothing was disturbed. "How the hell did they get'em both off Enterprise in less than ten minutes?" Trip asked. Whether the question was directed towards Trip or himself, Archer didn't know.  
  
"Transporter, maybe?"  
  
Trip shook his head, "Then their scanning technology and transporter accuracy must be much better than ours." He sank onto the bunk and rested his head in his hands. Archer was filled with compassion. He had never seen Trip given in so completely to defeat.  
  
"Hey, stop that." He ordered.  
  
Trip looked up, confused. Archer continued, "We'll get them back, Trip. T'Pol's brother will be here soon, and I'm sure he'll do whatever it takes to find them."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
When she awoke, T'Pol had absolutely no idea where she was. There was not one spec of light, and no sound whatsoever. Sitting up, she hit her head on a roof of some kind. She lay back down, and with her hands discovered walls on either side of her shoulders. Stretching, she confirmed her suspicions of adjacent walls over her head and below her feet. She explored them, trailing her fingertips across the seals and pushing against the walls. But nothing gave in to her strength; the immaculate flawlessness of it was maddening. Something stirred beneath her layers of precious discipline and logic, and she could feel it rising up through her levels of consciousness. She had no word for this feeling, this emotion. But it unnerved her, a decidedly unpleasant, foreboding feeling. It was multiplied ten-fold when she realized that Teval was gone. Natural fear and anger waged war with her logic, and she was forced to put thoughts of escape aside for some much needed meditation. As she lay in the smothering darkness, she forced herself not to dwell on the possible outcomes of this predicament. She could do nothing until she found a way out of the unusual prison, and that required all her reasoning skills. The SubCommander gladly put them to the test.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Several hours later aboard Enterprise, Archer was called to the bridge by Ensign Sato. He arrived, and looked at her expectantly.  
  
"The Vulcan ship Nimel is hailing us, sir." She said.  
  
Archer suppressed a grimace. As much as he would have appreciate some Vulcan brain and muscle right now, these were no ordinary Vulcans. And he was not looking forward to informing them of T'Pol and Teval's disappearance. Still, it had to be done, and better now than later. He nodded to his communications officer, who put the transmission up. A Vulcan he didn't recognize faced the bridge, and Archer was a tad confused. Hadn't T'Pol said her brother was coming?  
  
"I'm Captain Jonathon Archer."  
  
"I know who you are, Captain. We will be arriving within the next ten minutes." The Vulcan intoned coolly. It had been a long time since Archer had come across such a typical Vulcan. With a wry inward smile, he realized this man reminded him of Soval, actually.  
  
"Please have the child Teval ready for transport when we arrive." He continued.  
  
Archer's heart fell and was immediately softened. The baby hadn't done anything. Why were those bastards after a poor baby? He cleared his throat and straightened. Time to face the music, he said to himself.  
  
"That won't be possible. Earlier today we were attacked. The fight was short, but by the end, they had taken Teval and the SubCommander."  
  
The Vulcan's dramatic brows drew together in a frown that made him look quite menacing. Archer wondered if this was T'Pol's brother after all. He waited as the other man stared hard at him, waiting for the accusations to come. And he was prepared for them. He was responsible for the crew and their safety, and he had failed T'Pol and their tiny passenger. Yet, no harsh words came from the Vulcan. No words came at all for several long moments. Finally, he said,  
  
"Six minutes, Captain. Then we shall discuss what to do about this." He cut off the transmission, and Archer sank heavily into his command chair. There was nothing they could do. They had no way to track the alien ships, and even if they could they would have no idea which one to follow. Massaging his face with his hand, Archer commed engineering.  
  
"Tucker here." Came the firm reply.  
  
"Meet me at the port dock. We've got some visitors."  
  
"Understood."  
  
Archer stood and turned to Malcolm. "You have the bridge Lieutenant. If they show themselves a third time, blast the hell out of them."  
  
Malcolm nodded curtly to his captain and assumed his seat as Archer made his way down to the docking port. When Tucker opened the door, they were met with two Vulcan males. One they knew from previous experience. Standing taller than the humans and clad in a neat physician's robe was Emris. Archer smiled at him, remembering how polite this particular man had been to his crew. Beside him at the same height stood the Vulcan with whom the captain had spoken. His face had regained its composure, but he stood stiffly, giving off an air of tension.  
  
"It is good to see you again, Captain Archer. And you, Commander." Emris offered. He gestured to his companion.  
  
"This is my brother, Stol."  
  
Trip's eyes grew wide while Archer's narrowed in confusion. "I didn't know T'Pol had more than one sibling." He remarked. Trip wisely said nothing to the contrary.  
  
"Speaking of T'Pol, we need to know what happened during the conflict." Stol said, folding his hands into the ample sleeves that characterized Vulcan attire.  
  
Accordingly, Trip led them to a conference room, and the Captain and Commander proceeded to relate the events of the morning to their guests. When they were finished, Stol and Emris exchanged a look.  
  
"May I see her quarters?" Stol asked. Archer and Trip made as if to escort him there, but at the last minute his brother spoke up.  
  
"Commander, may I speak with you for a moment?"  
  
Trip looked back at Archer, who nodded before continuing with Stol. Trip came back to the table where Emris was still seated, watching him intently. He stood at attention, waiting. Emris watched the Commander for a few moments, interested by what he saw. The Commander was worried. Emris could understand it; he was also experiencing anxiety over his sister and the child in her care. But he could not help but see a difference between the emotion he was experiencing and the one the human was exuding. From his perspective as a married man, Mr. Tucker appeared to worry for T'Pol as though she was his wife. Emris decided this was worth some attention.  
  
"You are quite familiar with the SubCommander, correct?" he asked, voice deadpan.  
  
Trip swallowed audibly but held his ground. "Yes, I would say so."  
  
"Then tell me, Commander, of her relationship with the child Teval."  
  
Trip blinked, and almost exhaled in relief. Thankfully he stopped himself just in time. "She's very attached to 'er. She treats her like she was her own little girl."  
  
Emris appeared to consider this as is face turned away to stare out the viewport. Feeling more than a little uncomfortable, Trip hesitantly posed a question of his own.  
  
"If you don't mind me askin' . . . why does that matter?"  
  
The Vulcan man turned back to him, eyes dark and intense. Yet Trip was sure he could see some flicker of feeling in them. Suddenly, his eyes were the only obvious sign of life within his drawn face. "It is of no consequence. I was merely curious." He answered indifferently. Trip didn't buy it. He knew that Vulcans were never 'merely curious'. And he was sure that it meant something; he just didn't know what. Yet.  
  
A/N Continued: Yeah I know, it's short and it's a filler, but we needed it. Work on chapter eight will begin very shortly. Bibphile, I'll be emailing you about the tech stuff later today. Oh, and to anyone who hasn't read it, you might want to check out 'Reflctions: Hope and Relief". I posted on Staurday but it's been bumped down the list. It's my T/T take on Twilight. 


	8. Chapter 8: Answers

A/N: Hello there! Bet you all thought I'd died or something, huh? Unfortunately I have no valid excuse besides normal life. I was in a bit of a melancholy phase because my dream college rejected me. But once I realized it was no shameful thing to be rejected my Stanford, I moved on. I also was in a bit of an Enterprise lull, probably because we haven't had any new episodes for a while. But dear wonderful Becky sent me a few from the first season that I'd never seen, and so my love of T/T was renewed. I honestly can't say when the next chapter will be up, but I'm sick of this story and just want to wrap it up so I can have some peace of mind at night. And of course, like all you people out there, I can't wait for Episode 15. It may only be just a C storyline, but wasn't the whole thing about T'Pol's engagement a C story in "Breaking the Ice"? We still had quite a few good moments there, so don't be too discouraged!  
  
She was trained to deal with pain, torture, almost anything that might come her way and pose a threat. But never had she been prepared to face the danger of boredom. T'Pol was not absolutely sure, but she knew that it had been at least sixteen hours since she had awoken. since she had could not remember rematerializing from the transport and must therefore have been unconscious for some time. Every sense in her body screamed and strained for something, anything. Her eyes ached and the absence of sound was deafening. Her muscles were cramped from lying so long on a hard surface, and there was no room to shift herself.  
  
It was difficult to accept the fact that she was securely captive. Nothing she did could free herself from the cell. And what was worse, she had no idea who her captors were, nor what they wanted with Teval. She disliked this immensely. In fact, she admitted to herself, she hated it. Now she understood how Mr. Tucker felt when he could do nothing. Mr. Tucker. Charles. How he must be worrying, now that she and Teval had disappeared. She could imagine all too well how he was handling this, especially since there was no one to take her place on Enterprise. No one else would point out all the logical or illogical aspects of possible rescue plans. No one could temper his rashness with logical and rational suggestions. She refused to be reminded that her relationship with the Commander had grown more intimate in the last few days. Instead, she focused on the problem at hand. With no concrete information, she couldn't even begin to speculate what action Captain Archer might take. That meant she had to be ready for anything, including the possibility that she would never see Vulcan, Enterprise, or Commander Tucker again.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
After inspecting T'Pol's quarters, Archer had shown Stol back to the conference room, where Trip and Emris waited. Sitting back down across from them, Archer brought up the relevant subject.  
  
"All right," he began, looking directly at Stol, "what exactly is going on here and how are we going to get them back?"  
  
Stol matched his stare, then turned to his brother and nodded. All attention shifted the younger man as he began.  
  
"Your science officer and the child were abducted by a race called the Raenins, a primitive species from a little explored quadrant. Incidentally, the same sector that is home to the Suliban."  
  
Archer raised his eyebrows in surprise, trading a look with Trip.  
  
"Something tells me that has a lot to do with all of this." Trip stated.  
  
Stol nodded and continued, "Their relationship with the Suliban is very similar to that between Earth and Vulcan, meaning that the Suliban initiated first contact and have been overseeing Raenin's progress into a space-faring race." "Have they ever met you Vulcans?" Archer wanted to know.  
  
"Yes, we established contact only four decades ago." Stol responded. "Soon after, we terminated all formal relations with them."  
  
"Why?" Trip asked.  
  
"They were too impatient to wait until they were ready to leave their star system. A rebel faction staged an attack on the Vulcan consulate there, hoping that a show of force would make us concede to their wishes. They only succeeded in killing representatives and aids. After we pulled the remaining Vulcans out, they turned to the Suliban, who were more willing to give in to their demands for technology."  
  
"That was forty years ago," the captain began slowly, still processing the information. "What's happened since that would make them kidnap two Vulcans?"  
  
Stol sighed and glanced at the table, apparently reluctant to share the next piece of information. "You are aware, of course, that some of the Suliban travel throughout time."  
  
"Yes, but . . . wait, I thought you Vulcans didn't believe in time travel." Trip said.  
  
Stol fixed him with a stony stare, and Emris continued with, "The Vulcan Science Directorate has . . ."  
  
". . . determined that time travel is impossible." Archer finished, a grim grin on his face. "So why are you suddenly saying the opposite?"  
  
Emris gave him that look, the one T'Pol used when she was about to contradict herself, but somehow in the process end up not contradicting herself at all. Archer was pained a little to recognize it. "It is the official standpoint of the Science Directorate. We never said that we find time travel to be impossible."  
  
"That doesn't make any sense." Trip informed him with a frown.  
  
"We Vulcans are not all the same, Commander, as I'm sure you are aware." Emris retorted. Trip blushed.  
  
"Okay, so you acknowledge the existence of time travel." Archer interrupted. He was beginning to get more than a little impatient. "Where is this getting us?"  
  
"Most of the Suliban are unaware of the time traveling sect within their race, but a minor percentage of the Raenins have discovered this. Naturally, they wish to be given access to this technology. The Suliban have refused, but the Raenins reasoned there must be more than one species with the ability to manipulate time." Stol told them. Then he clammed up, and Emris made no motion to pick up where his brother had left off.  
  
"So who is it?" Trip demanded.  
  
"You." Archer whispered, looking at the Vulcans.  
  
"What?" Trip asked.  
  
"You've been developing the technology!" Archer continued in a heated tone, obviously having not heard his friend.  
  
Stol turned to Archer, his eyes hard as flint.  
  
"The Vulcan Science Directorate has deemed time travel to be impossible. To the best of their knowledge, it is. And it will stay that way, Captain. Do you understand me?"  
  
"No, not entirely." Archer shot back. How very Vulcan, he thought to himself. Keeping crucial information even from other members of their own species.  
  
"There was a scientist . . . he was unorthodox, to say the least . . . who had been secretly developing a basic form of time travel. He was foolish to attempt it."  
  
Trip rolled his eyes at Archer.  
  
"He made a . . . significant discovery . . . and did not trust the security of interstellar communications. Instead, he decided to hide the crucial information and return to Vulcan."  
  
"Only he never made it." Trip supplied. "We found everyone aboard that ship dead, except Teval. But there were no signs of attack."  
  
Emris stared at the surface of the conference table as he spoke, one hand massaging his chin. "The Raenins must have been watching him closely for some time, most likely waiting for him to finish his work and embark on a voyage, thus becoming vulnerable. They have sophisticated equipment, and knew you had docked with the ship for some amount of time. They then searched for you and confirmed you had two Vulcans aboard."  
  
"So they came back and took T'Pol and Teval." Archer finished.  
  
"And I'm bettin' this all is tied to that tattoo on Teval's leg." The Commander added. "Tattoo?" Stol inquired.  
  
"Yeah, some symbols on her leg. T'Pol said it wasn't exactly a common practice to tattoo babies on Vulcan, so it only makes sense that it has something to do with whatever that scientist discovered." "It would be logical," Emris mused, "a good way to hide his information."  
  
"But not good enough." Stol countered. "Now that we have shared this with you, you must make an oath not to repeat what we have said here. If this reaches Vulcan, or any other species for that matter, you can see what devastating affects it could have."  
  
"Yeah," Trip said, nodding in agreement, "we have enough trouble with just the Suliban messing up our lives. We don't need God knows how many other species tryin' ta change the timeline."  
  
"Do you swear?" Stol pressed.  
  
After the humans had sworn their oath, Emris asked the Captain to summon Lt. Reed. Once the armory officer arrived, the Vulcan men launched into a detailed and quick explanation of their plan, leaving out all mentions of time travel. They produced a set of spatial coordinates.  
  
"And you think the ships will be heading there?" Malcolm inquired, looking over the Vulcan PADD Stol had given him.  
  
"As we came into this system, we detected a larger Raenin vessel. By coordinating it's trajectory with that of the ships which attacked you, we believe this will be their rendezvous point."  
  
Lt. Reed looked up at them, his face skeptical. "The logical approach." It was a statement, not a question.  
  
"If you have a better idea, we are willing to hear it." The pointed-eared physician said.  
  
Malcolm shook his head, and looked towards his captain. "It's the best we've got, sir. At warp 4, we should be there in less than twelve hours."  
  
Archer nodded, and then said. "When we get there, you and I will go with them," he indicated the Vulcans with a gesture. Stol surveyed them briefly, then folded his hands back into his robes. Archer took his lack of complaint as a sign of consent.  
  
"Our ship will follow yours." The elder of the two stated. Stol turned to the door and began to leave, but paused when he realized for the second time that day that Emris was not following him.  
  
"I will stay here for the time being, if that does not present a problem." The younger man said, looking at his sister's commanding officer. Archer looked back at him, taking in his stare and returning it full measure. Finally, he replied, "If you need some time alone, I'm sure T'Pol wouldn't mind if you used her quarters." Emris gracefully inclined his head.  
  
Stol continued on his way to the docking port, with Archer escorting him. Lt. Reed was on his way up to the bridge, but he took a moment as he watched the Commander follow the captain. Taking in his balled-up fists and storm cloud of a face, as well as taking into account how the man felt about their lovely Vulcan colleague, Malcolm couldn't help the sense of foreboding that settled over him. If he knew Trip Tucker, he knew that Captain Archer was in for quite arduous argument.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In her cell, T'Pol awoke. The realization that she had been sleeping irritated her, but it was not something that surprised her. For all she knew, she'd been in this seamless box for days.  
  
"WHAT DO THE NUMBERS MEAN?"  
  
Her ears, straining for so long to hear the smallest decibel of sound, quivered from the force of that voice. She would have jumped had she enough room to do so. T'Pol became instantly alert, waiting for the next assault on her worn-out senses. The voice repeated itself.  
  
"WHAT DO THE NUMBERS MEAN?"  
  
"What numbers?" she asked the smothering darkness. It was best to 'play dumb' as Commander Tucker would put it.  
  
"ON THE CHILD'S SKIN." The voice clarified. In the recesses of her mind, T'Pol determined the voice to be that of a computer, or at least modified by a computer. Any possibilities of discovering the identity of her kidnapper were lost.  
  
"I don't know." She answered truthfully. "Who are you and what do you want with us?"  
  
"I KNOW YOUR KIND, VULCAN." Said the voice, now in a less painful intensity. "I WILL BREAK YOU SLOWLY, AND YOU WILL TELL ME."  
  
T'Pol did not answer but contemplated that. It knew she was Vulcan, but it did not know that she was trained to deal with torture. Memories of her experience with Silik returned unbidden to play before her eyes. She let the emotions associated with the memory wash over her, and then locked them away again. She would not let emotions get the better of her. Not now, and not ever. She took deep breaths, reassuring herself of the power of the Vulcan mind.  
  
Suddenly, she felt cold liquid swelling around her. It slowly reached up to just graze her ears, leaving her half submerged in the chilling substance. Then she understood. They meant to slowly drown her, make her become fearful and irrational, and thus more willing to give information she didn't have. Yes, she thought, the Vulcan mind is powerful, but the body is as susceptible as that of any other species. She closed her eyes, consciously making her breathing slow and deliberate, placing herself a state of meditation. There was nothing else to do.  
  
A/N Continued: I wanted to say thank you to the person who beta-ed this. You know who you are, but your comment made me think that perhaps you prefer anonymity. In any case, that person helped me out with all the technical time travel stuff, as well as gave some more insight into Vulcans. Thanks again!  
  
You know, it just occurred to me that maybe the writers are reading fanfiction. They've titled Episode 15 "Harbinger", which is the name of wonderful fic (I will not mention any pennames or websites since I haven't been given the right to. But if you've been reading ENT fics long enough, you're bound to know what story I mean). And the production report on StarTrek.Com for "Hatchery" talks about the adult Insectoid Xindi deliberately suffocating themselves so that life support can be directed to some eggs. Sounds quite a bit like what I have surrounding Teval's story, don't you think? Makes for some interesting speculation . . . 


	9. Chapter 9: Calm before the Storm

It was late according to human standards, and the corridors were silent, save for the hum of the engines and whisper of air vents. Having decided that he needed to eat, Emris headed down to the mess hall. T'Pol had mentioned a fondness for human salad in her letters, and he felt it would be prudent to try the alien legumes. He hadn't planned on having company, but seeing Commander Tucker seated at a far table and staring fiercely at a PADD inspired him to test a theory. With his plate decorated with greens and a glass of water, he approached the man he'd heard so much about in recent years.  
  
The engineer looked up at him, apparently surprised. With a gesture to the empty chair, he turned his head back down to continue reading. Eating his late meal, Emris studied his companion. His arms were crossed over his chest and resting on the table while his head was bent over the PADD, swathed in sickly blue shadows. With interest, the physician observed that the notoriously outspoken engineer was completely silent. His eyes shuttled back and forth too quickly for him to have been processing the information on the data PADD. While appearing to be studying the fibers of a celery stalk, Emris observed the agitated human, who seemed to be oblivious to his presence.  
  
" 'There a reason yer here?" Trip asked. The physician approved of his method; seeming to do one thing but in reality do something completely different.  
  
"I'm merely eating, Commander, but if my presence is disturbing you--" He was cut off by the Commander's impatient hand wave.  
  
"No no, it's fine. It's just that normally when a Vulcan willingly comes over to me, they want something in particular." Trip said, looking up from the table. Emris' hands were suspended in the air, his face still. If he hadn't known better, Trip would have sworn he was frozen. Slowly, the delicate hands descended.  
  
"If you are referring to my sister, I understand completely. Her behavior has always been somewhat direct, even amongst our kind."  
  
Trip chuckled. "Direct, yeah that's one way of putting it." His face fell, and Emris pushed onward to the next part of his experiment.  
  
"From what I understand, you and she work closely together." He said with downcast eyes. Trip's gaze focused and narrowed, the trait of a male who felt he was about to be challenged by another.  
  
"Not always, but we're together often enough." He said carefully.  
  
Emris noted his caution and gave the Commander a moment while he sipped his water. Tucker cleared his throat and looked at him.  
  
"Can I ask you something?"  
  
Emris considered the request and nodded.  
  
"What . . . what are the chances that we'll find 'em, and if we do what are the chances they'll be alive?"  
  
The doctor gazed at him as though he hadn't heard the question. The silence stretched on and Trip schooled himself to keep from squirming in his seat. Finally, the stoic Vulcan said something.  
  
"I don't know, Commander. It is illogical to make any predictions while we have so little knowledge."  
  
The human wasn't assuaged. The deep lines around his mouth and eyes deepened, and in the shadowy light Emris could see how he would look in old age.  
  
"In other words, don't get my hopes up." He amended bitterly. Emris could empathize with the man. The human man who he suspected was his sister's chosen one.  
  
"That is not what I meant, Mr. Tucker." He offered. "I'm certain you know as well as I do that T'Pol is the very opposite of helpless. And she has a talent for beating statistical odds."  
  
Trip laughed and sat back in his chair. "Yeah, nobody thought she'd stick with us humans for so long. Lord knows she's had more than enough chances ta get away, but she always stays. Never could figure out why." His comment had turned thoughtful now, and Emris could tell he was speaking more to himself than anyone else.  
  
"She stays because she feels she can be of assistance." He kept his speculations about T'Pol's personal life to himself. Tucker shook his head and refolded his hands.  
  
"Well whatever the reason, it's good enough for me. There's not a person in Starfleet who can do her job any better."  
  
Emris decided he had learned what he needed to know. Standing, he excused himself and left the Mess Hall, leaving Tucker to himself once again. Trip didn't stay there much longer either, and eventually made his way back to his own cabin. He hadn't been in it for more than half an hour when there was a chime at the door.  
  
"C'mon in." He called, swiveling around in the desk chair. Malcolm Reed stepped in, hands folded behind his hands despite the fact that neither man was on duty.  
  
"Sit down, Mal." He said, gesturing to the modern armchair beside the bunk. The armory officer did so, and Trip waited for him to say why he'd come. Trip could guess what it was, but he was going to avoid the inevitable as long as he could. He didn't have to wait long.  
  
"Talk." Malcolm ordered. Trip feigned ignorance.  
  
"About what?"  
  
"Cut the pretenses, Trip. I know about you two and I saw you when you came out of the Captain's Ready Room this afternoon. You must be ready to explode."  
  
At the mention of the Captain, Trip scowled. That "conversation" that Malcolm referenced had occurred after leaving the conference with the Vulcans. He'd been so mad he could have picked a physical fight if he'd had any less respect for Captain Archer. He'd demanded to be included in the rescue team, and Jon had gone on about how he understood how Trip felt but that he needed a senior officer on Enterprise. The encounter had not ended well.  
  
"There's nothing ta talk about." He said coldly.  
  
"How long?" Malcolm persisted. When Trip didn't respond, he became more forceful. "For God's sake man, how long have you felt like this about her?"  
  
"That's none a' your business, Mr. Reed."  
  
"It is if you're going to be in charge of Enterprise when we reach those coordinates. I know you Trip," he said, his face serious. "I know you well enough to know that you sometimes do foolish things, even when they are well-meant."  
  
"What the hell's that supposed ta mean?" Trip was irate, stalking about his cabin like a baited bear in a tiny cage. "You think I'd risk the ship? You think I'd risk the lives of this crew?"  
  
"No, I think you'd risk yourself." Malcolm answered. Trip didn't look at him or attempt to deny it. He couldn't honestly say the thought hadn't crossed his mind. He brought his hand up to his hair and grabbed a fistful of his hair, as though some physical pain might alleviate the awful feeling in his stomach.  
  
"I have my orders, Lieutenant. I'm going to follow them." Trip returned to his desk chair and collapsed into it without an iota of decorum.  
  
"How long?" Reed asked again.  
  
Trip sighed. "I don't know, okay? It's been comin' on so slowly I don't remember when it began."  
  
"You were on that swamp planet together for a few days, and you spent a lot of time with her and the baby." The armory officer stated. Trip shot him a curious look. For someone as direct as Malcolm, he was pretty skilled in the art of prevarication.  
  
"What's that got to do with it?" "Perhaps that's when you began to realize. We almost lost her, and then with the baby you began to understand who she truly is."  
  
Trip shook his head. If he hadn't known better he would have sworn Malcolm was a physiatrist. "Yer not makin' any sense. I've always known exactly what T'Pol is. She's a logic-spoutin', damned arrogant Vulcan."  
  
"She's more than that, especially to you. She's more than a brilliant scientist and commanding officer and she's more than a Vulcan, no matter how typical she sometimes acts. She's a woman, Trip. You just couldn't really see it before."  
  
Trip gave Malcolm a coy grin. "I don't think any of us had any doubts from the moment she came onboard.  
  
"That's not what I meant." Malcolm persisted. "She's capable of feeling like a woman. She's caring and maternal. You know better than anyone how she treated that baby."  
  
"Teval," Trip whispered, his stare vacant. "Like she was her own little girl."  
  
The two friends eased into silence for a few moments. The ethereal streaks of light passed by the window in an infinite stream, making the cold gray deck plating appear warm in contrast. Trip broke the moment, whispering a question directed equally towards himself and Malcolm. A question in reference to more than one thing.  
  
"What am I going to do?"  
  
"I honestly don't know, Trip. But don't think too far ahead. Let's get her back first." The Brit answered with his usual practicality. Trip smiled at him.  
  
"Yeah. I'll navigate the choppy waters of Human/Vulcan relations later, God willing."  
  
Malcolm shivered at the analogy and squeezed his friend's shoulder before leaving the room.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Captain Archer sat in his Ready Room staring out of his window, as he always did when deep in thought. So much had happened in just a few weeks, too much in his estimation. Forefront on his mind was getting T'Pol back. But close beneath the surface of his consciousness other thoughts lurked. They pierced his focus like dorsal fins of sharks, only to dip back down into the unexplored depths. A constant menacing force, making him tense and grim. On such shark, a smaller one, was the issue of Vulcans developing methods of time travel. It still hadn't quite sunk in yet. Another little fin was trying to understand what little Teval's fate would be. But the Great White of his mind was Trip. Or more accurately, Trip's relationship with T'Pol. That one was huge with eyes as unreadable and deep as T'Pol's and teeth consisting of all possible problems with such a union. It would be a force to be reckoned with, when the time came.  
  
"Bridge to the Captain." Travis Mayweather's voice floated through the comm.  
  
"Archer." He replied.  
  
"We're here, sir. Stol is requesting permission to come aboard."  
  
"Let him, and tell Malcolm and Dr. Emris to meet me in the starboard docking port."  
  
"Aye sir." Came the reply. Archer wished he could be as calm and collected as that voice. He shook his head and squared his shoulders. He had a crewmember to save.  
  
TBC. 


End file.
